


Because hell will follow you wherever you'll go

by Thira



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Corporate Espionage, Fanart, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Museums, New York City, Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Past Relationship(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slow Burn, Thriller, Zoo, lot's of history and Latin due to Ben's work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2018-12-14 10:56:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 52,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11781708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thira/pseuds/Thira
Summary: She looks down at his CV again and Ben’s palms get sweaty at the mere sight of it. His credentials are flawless, so much he knows- hypothetically for Caleb had told him that much the last evening like a broken record, but he is jumpy nevertheless. Maybe it’s her eyes, that seem to linger on him a bit too long or simple panic to have forgotten something, a certificate, anything- or it is the fact, that he can’t see what is behind him, who is behind him.He never hated libraries that much as he does now, simply because every five minutes someone is walking in or out and they are talking about him. Of course, they are talking about him and it is not just his imagination or his mind playing tricks.When Mrs Miller gestured for him to step inside the library and take a seat, Ben had nearly panicked. The airport had been easy, too crowded to actually stand out and on the plane, he had slept, nearly calmly for the first time in god knows how long. The streets on the other hand had been a bit difficult, but he had managed, he was used to managing after all





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For Joy ;)
> 
> A big thank you to my wonderful beta reader Kayley
> 
> "Amare et sapere vix deo conceditur."- to love and be reasonanable not even a god manages

„So, you are a teacher, Mr. Tallmadge?”

Ben looks up from his lap and remembers in time to smile to make the whole thing convincing. “Yes, Mrs. Miller. I studied at Yale, History and Latin, and worked than in a school in New Haven for about two years.” As his application states- both things. 

Mrs. Miller looks down at his CV again and Ben’s palms get sweaty at the mere sight of it. His credentials are flawless, so much he knows- hypothetically for Caleb had told him that much the last evening like a broken record, but he is jumpy nevertheless. Ben isn’t sure why. Maybe it’s her eyes, that seem to linger on him a bit too long or simple panic to have forgotten something, a certificate, anything- or it is the fact, that he can’t see what is behind him, who is behind him. Their talk isn’t occurring in an office as Ben had hoped. An office wouldn’t be a problem. Nothing more than folder and a laptop, maybe a plant, but certainly not so many people. He never hated libraries that much as he does now, simply because every five minutes someone is walking in or out and they are talking about him. Of course, they are talking about him and it is not just his imagination or his mind playing tricks. No, he is the new one and the post stamp from London certainly has made them interested in him. He cringes at the thought of the questions he sure will be bombarded with.

When Mrs. Miller had gestured for him to step inside the library and take a seat, Ben had nearly panicked. The airport had been easy, too crowded to actually stand out and on the plane, he had slept, nearly calmly for the first time in god knows how long. The streets on the other hand had been a bit difficult, but he had managed, he was used to managing after all, but the library nearly had him running. 

“You were in London for two years. Any jobs abroad, Mr. Tallmadge?”

And there was the question he had been dreading, no matter how often he practiced his reply. He can do that! And don’t forget to smile. “No. It was more of a personal reason to go to England.” 

Personal, so back off! Ben sights and already considers to blow the whole thing off. It will never work anyways, he really should have considered the amount of people he would have to work here with, but what else should he do? Teaching was out of question! He got itchy with more than two people in the room, let alone thirty teenagers that would quickly pick up that something was off with their new teacher. Kindergarten he could do, but no three-year-old wants to learn Latin. 

“So, why the sudden wish to come back to New York?”

He tries to smile, let it sound casual, but he is not sure it works and so he simply settles on looking at emperor Tiberius whose bust, or rather the replica of it, is standing behind Mrs. Miller. The sad emperor looks down on him and Ben sure can relate. “It didn’t work out”, he says to the dead ruler. 

At that, Mrs. Miller gives him a brilliant smile. Ben catches it in the corner of his eyes and it that has him looking at her fingers on reflex. Miss Miller, he corrects himself with a sight. Great! Her eyes now really do linger. He feels like bolting. He feels like he is going to be sick. 

“Her loss”, Miss Miller says with another charming smile. 

He knows better than to correct her, not that it would actually matter. “After the break, I just wanted something else than regular teaching and I always had a thing for museums. So… Here I am.” It makes the whole thing sound so ridiculously easy. As if all he had to do was to buy a ticket and a newspaper to find that damn job. 

“Here you are.” She smiles and Ben curses that he hadn’t simply walked into the meeting with an old, far too big hoodie from Yale. He could have blamed it on the weather after all and it would have given a bit more protection than the shirt he wears now. 

“Actually”, she continues, still checking him out like it would be a speed date and not a job application for a serious and old museum, “it might be a lucky strike that you know a thing or two about teaching. The director always talked about giving the kids a closer look on the Romans and their culture. He keeps talking about starting a summer school for them since I can remember- old men and their hobbies. Let him be and you could celebrate even Christmas in Latin here.” 

Here she laughs and Ben tries to laugh along. That is what would be expected, isn’t it? He isn’t sure anymore, but Miss Miller seems to be happy with the reaction. A bit of tension leaves is shoulders. But still… Christmas. Not the best way to be remembered of it. 

Miss Miller is still talking Ben suddenly realizes and he tries to concentrate again. “… stupid but if he pays for it, who are we to say no to it. So, if you are still up to the task of teaching Latin and history from time to time, welcome on the team.”

To say he is a bit taken aback, would be an understatement. “Just like that?” It is meant as a joke, but actually he is really as shocked as he sounds. He can’t be the only one who applied for this job after all and Miss Miller simply picks him on a whim? Certainly not! Ben tries to fight the urge to run- and swallows the bile, that is suddenly in his mouth, down again. Why was it so easy? Things normally weren’t so easy. Had he figured out, where Ben went to?

For all her qualities Miss Miller is sure to have, empathy isn’t one of them. She fails completely to see the rising panic in Ben’s eyes and simply shrugs, as if it really had just been that- a joke. “As I said, the teaching thing is like a special request from the boss. He always says that anyone who could qualify for that will get the job first. Normally he tests the children credentials with his own grandchildren- no one has passed so far and the others have to take extra shifts to cover up the children tour. But you are a teacher and used to babysit while you studied, didn’t you? That is more than enough I’d say, even for him.”

Ben relaxes again- well not really relaxes but loses a bit of the tension he had gained. He is simply qualified, that’s all. He is good at something, at his job, his work. He pushes the voice in his head back, that tries to tell him otherwise. A new start, he remembers himself. This is a new start after all. He can do it!

He signs more papers than he can count and suddenly is very lucky, he ran before the wedding. It is downright ridiculous but having to sign everything with HIS name would surely kill him. Having a part of him always with him, sticking at him like a reminder he can’t get rid of. He looks at his name. Tallmadge. His own name. Maybe there are still some things that are simply Ben, not the person he had to be for the last two years. 

When he is allowed to walk out of that library, Ben is so happy, he feels like fainting. Maybe he really should have eaten something before the meeting, he thinks, looking up at the old clock that states it’s 5pm. He can grab a bite on the way back to his room, Ben figures. Well, not home but the couch at Caleb’s place. He still can’t believe that all Caleb had said to him after the two years of silence where a simple: Come to the zoo and fetch the keys if a couch is ok with you.

But unfortunately, Miss Miller doesn’t want to let him go just now. She all but drags him over to a coffee machine at the end of the hall, that is occupied by a rather large group of people- too many for Ben’s taste and he is all but sure he recognizes some of them. They had been in the library while he had his talk with Miss Miller. Two girls are already whispering at each other. Wonderful! Just what he needs right now.

“So, Lexy, did he get the job?” One of the men asks as soon, as they were in a short enough distance that he doesn’t have to scream the whole house down. He is a bit older then Ben and muscular, broad. Ben nearly jumps back at the sight of him. Get a grip, he tries to tell himself. Get a grip!

Another man snorts at that and inspected Ben, that has the later think about a cattle market where he is a priced animal. He breaks into sweat at the thought of it. “Sure thing, Bradford. I mean, look at him. Wouldn’t you want to hire someone like him as well?” 

“Give it a rest, you two!” A petit woman puts out her hand to Ben and smiles. It’s a warm smile, a friendly one. Ben knows he should have liked her this instant, well his two year ago self would have liked her this instant and probably befriended her only seconds later. Now he just manages the first real smile since he stepped into the museum. He takes her hand. “Ben.”

“Mary.” 

From there, they all tell him their names and ask him more questions than he wants to answer. 

Where he comes from. -Long Island

Where he studied. -Yale

What he did in England. -That has him stuttering, but he is safed by more questions. Some easy, some difficult. He ignores the one about relationships, not by choice, but by the simply constriction of his throat. He can’t speak. He simply can’t bring himself to name him, to talk about it, not even that he is in no relationship right now. The word simply seems branded with HIS name, HIS face, HIS hands.

It’s a voice from the staircase, that saves him from this hell. “So, you finally found someone to make the children tour, Lexy? No problems with him not liking children? The last one couldn’t even stand the idea of a child crying or him having one clinging at him. I don’t want yet another disappointment for the kids.”

Ben looks up to see who is speaking and needs a second or two to find the speaker on the wide staircase that leads up to the Egyptian exhibition, some books in his hands and a fierce look on his face. It’s an old man, intelligent eyes behind small glasses and messy brown hair, that reminds Ben of his own old history teacher. The kind you had to win over and get used to their rough humor, but once done, they had a heart of gold. He likes the man, but sill Ben is unsure how to react, especially given the distance, that doesn’t really allow a handshake. What to do? He settles for a small bow that really couldn’t insult anyone, could it? “Benjamin Tallmadge, sir.”

The older man huffs. “Manner he has, but bowing isn’t something that will draw children in. He has to manage kids, Lexy, not teenage girls.”

Ben blinks, not sure if he has done something wrong or if he simply has provoked an old joke. But why teenage girls? “I am a studied teacher, Mr…”

“Sackett!” He looks him over once more while walking down the stairs and nearly losing his balance more than once due to the heavy books in his arms. “Well, if he is a teacher, I guess we can give it a try”, Mr. Sackett mumbles to himself, not yet fully convinced. So, Miss Miller did overstep her boundaries with this job offer, Ben thinks dryly. He isn’t sure why, but it is strangely comforting. Maybe he just likes to see people in their worst mood now before he gets to know them or it is just a remainder, that this is actually a normal process and not something with a snag he is yet to uncover. 

His new boss seems done studding him and it is a relief to Ben, that someone seems more interests in other things then him. But still, the next question catches him of guard. “What do you think, George? After all, you have far more experience with finding qualified staff than I. The last were a real disaster. I paid him to go before his contract ended.”  
Only now, Ben realized that Mr. Sackett isn’t alone on the stairs. Behind him is another man. A man, that couldn’t be more different than Mr. Sackett. Fine tailored suit and the auburn and grey hair neatly dressed, he speaks of money, of authority and status. Ben is ready to flee. That man is a bit too much like the one he is running from. But the worst part is, that he knows he would have fallen for this stranger right here and now like some little teenage girl for a film star, if the last two years hadn’t been part of his life. 

When the stranger suddenly makes eye contact with him, Ben really does take a step back. He feels like under a microscope. All the sudden, he is hyper aware of everything and it makes him itchy, it makes him sick. He doesn’t hear what the man, this George, is actually saying. Blood is pumping through his ears, silencing every other sound than the voice in his head, laying George words in the mouth he never could say, would say -or so Ben hopes. His breath comes out in short gasps. He should slow it down, the last reasonable part of him thinks. Stop hyperventilating or you will faint! But he can’t, he simply can’t. He mumbles something about restrooms and then bolts like the child he is, like the stupid coward he has been for the last two years. 

When his back is pressed against the cold wall of the restroom and his breath isn’t running further away from England and his pasts, he thinks about how this must have looked. And George seemed to be a friend or at least a trusted acquaintance of his new boss. Great, Tallmadge, simply great! He ruined this one, really ruined it. 

Ben feels the tears on his cheeks, but he doesn’t bother with them, not for the moment. He had so hoped to leave all of this behind. The memories, the anxieties, the helplessness. There was an ocean between them after all, wasn’t it?


	2. Chapter 2

It took him a whole ten minutes to calm himself down enough, that he dares to go outside again without transforming in a weeping mess once again. His mind is still occupied with searching for an explanation when he turns the final corner and sees the others at the coffee machine. All he can do is force a smile on his face and hope that they won’t ask why he ran like he had just seen a ghost. When has he ever been that lucky though?

“We were just about to send a search party to the restroom. You sure took your time, Tallmadge. Fall in?”

It might have just been a joke to lighten the mood but Ben flinches at the words and avoids Bradford’s eyes like they could burn him. “Sorry," is all he can think to mumble.

“You still look a bit pale. Are you sure your all right?” Mary’s voice cuts through his thoughts and he looks up at her. Well, cutting isn’t exactly a nice word, given that she seems sincerely concerned for his wellbeing, but Ben is too tired to think of anything else.

“A friend of mine caught a nasty gastroenteritis while flying home from her vacations.” She continues. “Perhaps you should go home and lay down, Ben. Food abroad is nothing compared to the risk of food on a plane-”

Mary’s words cause the group to laugh and Ben nods with a forced smile as if in agreement, thankful for the escape she provided him with. Going to Caleb’s really does sound like a great idea. Maybe he’ll just take a pill this evening and allow himself a good night’s rest for once.

Ben nearly makes it to the end of the corridor where the large staircases led to the foyer when Miss. Miller calls him back again. 

“Just ring in, if you’re well enough tomorrow to work. Sacket really is into the kids tour and he has some things he wants to discuss with you.”

Ben blinks owlishly. He still has the job? After his exit and the rather strange application meeting? To be honest, he already wrote it up as yet another failure. “I will, I promise." He manages and Lexy all but beams at him.

To his surprise, it’s Mary who then cat-calls at him. “If you wait for like five more minutes, we can leave together. We usually do that and you’re on the team now, aren’t you?”

Yeah, he figures. It seems like he is. Only problem still to solve: Is it a good or a bad thing? Well, one point for bad this time, he can’t back out of the waiting thing. It would be impolite and he hates that character trait, always has. Ben sights deeply. “Ok, five minutes I can spare, I guess.”

That has his new colleges running off to the timer like his school kids used to. Ben looks after them and wonders how his kids are now. Little Sarah with her problems in remembering the gender of literally anything or Sam, who always tried to convince him to read Asterix comics in Latin instead of Caesar. Ben had been tempted to give in. After all, it had been more of a fun subject anyways for nearly no one considered the language actually important in the States. In England, nearly everybody who wanted to be considered intelligent and some who really were had had Latin classes at school. Not that he had been teaching there.

Were there still a Latin class in New Haven for Sarah and Sam? And how was the new teacher they got for history? To be honest, Ben had never looked it up, too afraid of the finality he would find in it. His old place was lost to him, replaced by others. Ben looked over the walls of the museum and nodded a quiet hello to a family, that went into the exhibition. Was this his new one? Had he even the right for a new one after he lost not just one, but two?

“This is boring. They are dead anyways. Why the hell should I look at some vase of them?”

Ben looks up and sees the family he had greeted storming out of the exhibition again, parents close to shouting at their boy, who in return looks like he can think of a thousand better ways to spend his evening.

“This is education, young man!” His father barks and Ben shoots the boy a sympathetic glance. When has that statement ever made something more interesting? But he holds his tongue. Speaking his mind when he isn’t asked to has only ever brought him into trouble. He learned his lesson. Still…

A hand suddenly falls at Ben’s shoulder and he whirls around, to find himself face to face with Bradford. “Already inspecting your new clientele? Happy lot, don’t you agree? Bet they can’t wait to meet you.”

Ben gulps and he loses his first battle, when he takes a step back, to bring some space between him and Bradford, whose closeness seems to suffocate him, and the second, when he feels Brandford’s words getting to him despite his best efforts to ignore them. Doubt. He feels the familiar feeling settling into him, no matter how much he tries to avoid it. “I’ll do my best.” Ben finally murmurs but it sounds hollow even to him.

“Ah, you waited.” Mary runs over, a bag over her shoulder and a coat in her arms. She looks a bit in a hurry herself and Ben is more than happy to jog along and doesn’t care in the slightest, that he can’t wait for the others- or go to a bar with them like they apparently had planned for the evening. Bars are like the worst place to be in his opinion anyways. To many people and always a wisp of flirting in the air. No, bars are really the worst!

As they make their way through the foyer and around yet another bust, the one of the founder of the museum this time, Mary pants, “Sorry, I’m usually not that hectic, but I have to pick Thomas up from his nanny. She has a doctor’s appointment and can’t take him till five like normally.”

Is it normal to talk that much with your new coworker? Ben wonders. He can’t remember his first days at the school. But then, he used to talk a mile a minute before… well, before him. But still, Mary does barely know him- and suddenly a new thought has him nearly bolting again: Does she expect him to talk that much about himself as well? The idea has something in him flinching like it got burned. Well, better to keep her talking then, he supposes. “Thomas?”

“Oh sorry, I kind of forgot that you have been spared my monologues about him so far.” She laughs, an old joke between her and the others probably and it reminds Ben painfully of the laugh of an old friend.

Everything on Mary reminds him of Anna, sweet Anna, who hasn’t answered any voicemails he has left her the last few days. He can’t blame her though, he thinks bitterly. It was him, who ended their friendship after all and looking back on it, it was such a stupid thing to do. He could have spared himself all of this, the whole fucking two years, if he had used his praised brains for at least two seconds.

“You ok?”

Ben’s head snaps up and he smiles ruefully at Mary. “Sorry, lost in thoughts. So, who is Thomas?”

Again, a happy smile. God, how he envy that happiness. “He’s my son. Two years old and such a sweetheart, but then, I think every mother says that about her boy.”

A child. That has him smiling, despite himself. He always loved children, even in school, when it was uncool to play with the younger ones. “You have a picture?”

Of course she does! The next ten minutes they try to force their way through the crowded streets of New York City, all he has to do is listening to her stories about Thomas first steps, his first pictures, that are actually pretty good for a two-year-old as he tells her, and her son’s stupid idea to bath the cat after it got dirty while he painted with finger paints.

At the end, Ben is surprised to find himself smiling. When had that happened the last time? He isn’t sure and if he really needed proof of how messed up he is, that is it, he thinks, and it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. Like tears, like utter sadness.

His stomach gives a growl when the walk around a food stand, one of which New York seems to be cobbled- more than he can remember. Embarrassed he tries to apologize, but Mary doesn’t want to hear it. All she does is laugh, another warm, friendly laugh. “Boys! And I hoped, Thomas would outgrow this one day. Lost cause as it seems.”

Ben runs a hand through his long hair, strands coming undone out of his ponytail, and he gives her a crooked smile. “Maybe. Just tell him to eat before an application meeting.”

Mary gapes at that. “You haven’t? Jesus! No wonder you are that thin. I ate half the supermarket before mine.”

“It doesn’t show.”

The answer is something like a reflex to him, but Mary’s response isn’t. She beams at him. “England certainly seems to be good for manners. I think I will send Thomas over there to study. Let somebody else do the finer education.”

They queue before the stand, Mary waving him off, as he points out, he doesn’t want her to be late on his account.

“Nonsense! I’m just returning the favor. When I had my first day here, I really got lost. Turned out that rural Pennsylvania is something different after all.” She chuckled. “Mr. Sackett had mercy for me, when I ran into him. I don’t want you to get lost like I did, especially when you’re not that well.”

Ben smiles a polite thanks and wonders, if all New Yorkers are that nice- or Pennsylvanians or if maybe he did get lucky this time. “Mr. Sacket helped you? He seemed a bit rough to me” he feels her out.

“He is a wonderful person and boss!”

Her ferocity sets him aback. He didn’t intend to insult the man after all. “I’m sure of it.” he manages lamely. Great, Tallmadge, you just lost another friendly face.

“Sorry, I didn’t want to snap at you.” Mary starts again after a minute or so of silence. “It’s just… Him and Bradford, they don’t get along so well and the guy keeps insulting everyone. I guess defending Sackett kind of comes naturally to me since Bradford is on the team.”

Ben makes a face. “Yeah, I had a feeling he is that kind of type.”

“Don’t worry”, Mary is quick to reassure him. “Bradford is actually working in the financial sector. I keep forgetting what he does, but he kind of overlooks the costs of our exhibitions. To cut a long thing short, we don’t see him often, unless you want to spend your break with him. No idea why he was with us today in the first place. Probably to look if you can steal his position as best-looking employee or whatever the title is.”

Ben can only stare at her. What?

“He is a bit in love with himself, you see." Mary clarifies. “And most women love him as well.”

Ah, good to know. So, he is already on bad terms with the most famous kid in school. Lucky him! “He can have them, I’m not interested. What about you? You seem resistant to his charms.”

That has Mary snoring. “Bradford? No thanks! Happily divorced from a jerk like that.”

It’s their turn now and Ben is suddenly struck with a strange way of nostalgia. Maybe it’s the pretzels that are for sale. He had been to Bavaria with Benedict once after all, pretty early in their relationship. It had been their first weekend as a couple in England. Some festival in Germany- they hadn’t even really unpacked everything before they had to run for their flight. Back then, they had practically lived on that stuff. Till now, Ben isn’t sure if Germans really eat that many pretzels or if they simply stuff the tourists full of them. He tries to push the memory away, but it’s hard. It’s always hard. The worst part about the whole thing isn’t the ending, not what Benedict did to him, as stupid as it might sound, but the good times. They make him doubt himself, always had.

Ben takes a hot dog, not able to look at the pretzels, let alone eat one, no matter how much peanut butter the salesman has put on them and how different they taste here in the states. He can’t bring himself to eat one. It would be like eating memories. Memories of him.

Mary studies his hotdog doubtfully. “You know, Ben, it might be none of my business, but upset stomachs are kind of a motherly specialty and so I can tell you one thing: Hotdogs aren’t good for them.”

Ben gives the man some dead presidents that still look strange to him, colorless after the pounds and euros he now is used to and shrugs. “Does Thomas listen to this?”

He doesn’t need to look at Mary’s face to know the answer. Thank god for the boy for because of him, Mary lets it slip with that lousy explanation.

They make it to the subway station and Ben gathers his courage to ask, what has been nagging at him since he fled to the restroom back in the museum. “Who was that man with Mr. Sackett? What was his name?” He knows the name perfectly well, at least the first name, but making too much of a fuss about him could raise questions. Not the right ones, of that he is pretty certain, but questions are always bad.

A knowing grin appears on Mary’s face. “Oh, you mean Washington. Quite the sight, isn’t he? You’re lucky you saw him on your first day. A lot of us have to wait an eternity. Usually till the next exhibition opening.”

Washington? Should that sound familiar? “But who is he? He doesn’t really look like the guy to work in a museum.”

Mary chuckles. “So, there is like a museum kind of type?”

Ben is quick to apologize and only then realizes that she just made a joke. “Well, you know what I mean”, he finishes as the subway rolls in.

“Yeah, I guess. He is a patron of the museum. Well, more like the patron. More money than even he knows and obviously he likes to spend it in education and culture. I have to take that one, sorry. See you tomorrow?”

He nods and Mary happily waves a goodbye like they were old friends. A patron, that was… That was nice. Not what he had expected, but really nice- and it was something Benedict would have never done. He hadn’t even donated for Médecins sans frontier or UNICEF. That thought has Ben strangely calmed down. He isn’t Benedict, he isn’t like Benedict! And anyways, he won’t see the man any time soon, if Mary had been telling the truth. Of course, she had, he gravels himself. He shakes his head as he steps into the subway. She was nice, she wouldn’t lie. What reason would she have? From nativity to paranoia it seems.

As the train makes his way through the tunnels of New York, Ben wonders, if this really is it. The end to a sad chapter with a new, blank book now opening. If only he knew then, that he wouldn’t be the only author in the life to come.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit more of Ben's backstory and a something special at the end...

Caleb’s dog greeted him at the door to the apartment, barking and waging his tail in excitement. Ben sighed softly, walking the dog is not too difficult, he had assured Caleb of that this very morning but now that he actually has to do it. It feels like a task that should be rewarded with a fucking Nobel Prize. It is a task that requires him to walk out of the door and interact with people. Plus, there is practically no dog that would draw any less attention to you.

Caleb, of course, had to pick a ball of fluffy fur, that could only do one thing better than shedding: cuddling and with total strangers as well as with friends. “Okay, come on Hobbit.” The name definitely suited the dog!

Ben settles on a jog through the nearby park. Jogging means he is too fast for anyone to approach him and it will tire out the dog quicker.

The cold air is filling his lungs, burning with each step that he takes, while a breeze brushes over his face. Hobbit is happily barking at some birds as they jog. It takes a whole minute for Ben to figure out what is missing from the picture, why everything seems so much longer. He’s running without earplugs.

Back before England, he used to run with an audiobook. Anything he could get his hand on that had either heroes and battles or at least one dragon. History was always fine with him as well, as long as he could like someone but now he doesn’t even have one lousy song on his cell anymore. All the CDs are still in England. He couldn’t pack them, not the CDs, not the books and certainly not his paintings. It feels like half of his life is still in England, half of him. Somewhere in the attic of that nice house Benedict bought. Or have they ever made it up to there? He never made sure. In the beginning, he had trusted Benedict. They had to settle in, he had to work and Ben was afraid of heights, so no reason for him to climb up the ladder at all.

Then they settled in and Ben asked. First, Benedict had been too busy, then they had colleges over from Asia and then something else. It took nearly half a year for Ben to realize, that he should stop asking Benedict because nothing would come out of it. This had been their first quarrel, the first trip to the hospital, but not the last, never the last.

Maybe it’s better this way, he thinks, as he speeds up, dog behind him. Without his head lost in an audiobook, he can hear if somebody’s calling out, approaching. Five minutes later, he knows that he can do one other thing extremely good without music: Thinking.

Ben isn’t jogging anymore, he is running. Running from his own thoughts, his own mind while Hobbit is somewhere behind him, having found a new friend. When the air is getting too thin to breath he stops, gasping. His legs are burning from the exercise and he needs a few seconds until he can stop gasping long enough to call for the dog, who of course decides that this time of all times is the perfect moment to demonstrate what Caleb calls thinking for himself. Ben is sure the dog wants to have a laugh at humans once in a while. With no other option left, he runs back and gets out the leash to make sure Hobbit will listen the next time. So much for Caleb’s promise the dog would be like a lamb. Like hell!

But what did he expect from a dog of Caleb? His friend is both horrible and perfect with animals, preferring wild over tamed and animal over most of the people (well, Ben has to agree with him on that one). Caleb even finds some positive side in the crocodiles he tends to from time to time. Ben isn’t sure if Polly and Nepomuk appreciate the effort Caleb puts into defending them, but Ben doesn’t argue with his friend about their honor or character of which they have plenty according to Caleb. Ben doesn’t argue anymore- at all.

Hobbit looks up at him like he is a monster when Ben forces him to part with a group of five-year-old kids, that just became his best friends for the day, but for once, Ben doesn’t care. All he wants to do is finish the walk, shower and sleep. He urges the dog to get moving again and reluctantly, Hobbit agrees with him.

It is pitch-black dark outside, when Ben makes it back at the apartment his legs are burning like hellfire and he is sure he overdid it. (Something which Hobbit totally agrees on) but he is tired. Simply bone tired and not due to medicine he's forced down his throat. It is a good feeling. It feels like progress.

Ben opens the door to a kitchen full of people and Caleb storming at him, a worried expression on his face. “Where on earth have you been, Bennyboy? I called like ten times. That’s what a cell is for.”

It’s reflex, that has him apologize and it is another, that makes him duck his head, tension visible in his shoulders.

Caleb scratches his beard, not liking the looks of this at all. The Benjamin Oliver Tallmadge he knew would never duck, never back down. The boy used to meet every challenge and was the best at arguing, no matter his opponent or the cause. The only thing that counted were his belief in it.

Hobbit makes his way around Ben and happily licks Caleb’s fingers. They taste of the burgers he is making for the friends he invited over. Friends Bennyboy didn’t know about. Friends that might ask questions, shit, withdraw that, they will ask questions. “Take a shower, Benny, not even your looks can upgrade that much sweat in something good-looking.”

Ben nods and quietly grabs a towel and the old sweater Caleb had lent him . Only when he is in the bathroom, Caleb wonders, if his joke might have been a bit too close to home. Damn it!

"Come Hobbit, you look like Ben tried to train you for a marathon. You sure deserved yourself a bit of meat.”

It takes a while until Ben exits the bathroom again. The burgers are all empty except for one, that Caleb saved for him. He made it extra healthy with more lettuce and tomatoes and everything Ben used to eat and less of the good stuff but Ben merely picks at it. He claims he had hotdogs after the meeting, but Caleb isn’t sure if he believes it- especially the plural.

He plays a round of Catan with his friends, but Ben declines when they ask him to play along, even though they say he doesn't have to play with one of them. He mumbles something about not having played in ages and only spoiling the fun for them but Caleb doesn’t believe him. Ben used to win all the time, when they had board game evenings, no matter what they played. He always won. Lucky at cars, unlucky in love. It had never been more true. Maybe he should fly to Vegas with Benny. The boy was sure to make a fortune there.

When the last of his friends are gone, Caleb looks over to the couch where Ben is sitting. They had been too loud for him to sleep, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He just sits there with a book in his lap. It takes Caleb a second to get that it is that horrible Shakespeare play they had to act out at school. He had been made Puck. Still, whenever he sees violet flowers somewhere, he shudders at the sight. But Ben nearly seems happy, the hands stroking the pages that are meddled with jokes, unappropriated pictures and some notes that do actually make sense regarding the story. He looks like he belongs. Not on his couch but with the book. Caleb makes a mental note to get him some for Christmas. Secondhand on eBay and he might be able to give Bennyboy something to forget even the holidays. Lucky them, it is only September right now. December and Ben might be an even greater mess.

“Sorry if we kept you up.”

Ben looks up and suddenly, there is a glimpse of his old friend in these eyes. “No problem, Caleb, really. It is your apartment after all.”

“Yeah, but you live here as well.”

Caleb takes a seat on the carpet in front of the couch and Hobbit’s head is in his lap as soon as he is seated. Caleb takes his time studying Ben. His dark blond hair is still wet and pulled back into a messy pony tail, while his form is nearly swallowed by Caleb’s hoodie. Ben has a bit too much muscle and not enough fat on him if you’d ask Caleb. That Arnold guy sure didn’t feed him enough.

"You’re sure you’re not hungry? I even got cucumbers for you.” It is a guilt trick, a sneaky one, but it has Ben eating.

“So”, Caleb asked, tickling Hobbit behind the pointy ears, “How was your meeting at the museum? You think you’ll hear from them?”

Ben looks up, ketchup on his fingers. “They want me to start tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Holy shit! Was the interviewer gay or didn’t he tell the woman he is. “Well, congrats! If you’d texted, I would have organized something, a celebration.”

“It’s fine, Caleb, really.” Ben smiles and his friend lets the matter drop. Later, Caleb tells himself. In a month, maybe two, he will drag Ben out of this apartment. In six he might even set him up on a date. But not now. Now he will simply make sure he was comfy.

“So, how are your new colleges?” He makes sure not to ask about good looking one, not even nice ones. No need to push, no need to make Benny bolt.

Ben puts the book away and shrugs, burring himself under the blanket. “Nice, I guess. I talked a bit longer with a Mary that headed in the same direction as I did. She has a little boy.”

A child, always good. “How old?”

“Two.”

Perfect! “Maybe you can babysit him. You should ask. You’re great with kids.” And kids never failed to make Ben smile.

He shrugs. “She doesn’t know me.”

“You work together. If she doesn’t talk to pictures or mummies all the time, you will get to know her. Plus, since when do you know the parents that much when you sit their kids?”  
He knows he is right, but Benny doesn’t tell him. Again, Caleb doesn’t push. At least Ben is talking. Damn, he should have beaten the guy to death the first time he had picked Ben up in that pretty car with his pretty smile. His pretty boyfriend. Arnold was like one of this people who got a certain pet because the fur matched their decoration style or it was trendy right now. Ben had been nothing else than the last piece of a collection and when the doll showed he had a mind of his own, Arnold beat it out of him.

“Anything interesting in the museum? I heard it is a place for the high society to show they can try to look intelligent. You would tell me if the Queen or some hot Hollywood chick would make an appearance, wouldn’t you?”

That has Ben grinning, a real Bennyboy Tallmadge grin. Ten points to Caleb! “Sure.”

“So?”

Ben shrugged. “I met the patron of the museum briefly.”

“Washington?”

That has Ben’s interest. “You know him?”

“Like hell I do. But the guy gave the zoo some money for the new tiger enclosure, pretty everything we needed to be honest. A friend of mine who is into politics heard he plans on running for mayor, maybe even Congress. He sure has the money to pay for it. Probably wants to make himself liked by the people.”

“Sounds like a nice guy.” Ben states, but Caleb doesn’t like the sound of it at all, especially coming from Ben. The last nice guy with that much money had his friend seeing the hospital more often than he could ever do if he had pursued a carrier in medicine.

“Yeah? I don’t know. The guy is fishy if you asked me. Never married, never has a girl or a family member around, always just his protégé that he raised from god knows where. I don’t like it.”

Ben only nods, not caring to disagree. He doesn’t really care after all if Washington was nice or had a wife. All he wanted was to erase the feeling of looking into Benedict’s eyes again. Now he is sure, they aren’t alike, so no reason to flee the next time he sees the man. He falls asleep happily with Caleb chatting about some baseball game he wants to see, no pills needed tonight.

Caleb smiles and is halfway into his own bed, when he remembers that Benny has to get up early tomorrow. The museum, he thinks, that is like half an hour with the subway. Plus breakfast, plus the bathroom… A quarter to seven must be more than enough, he figures. He sets the alarm on Ben’s cell and is ready to drop it into the dogging station again, when he sees the little symbol blinking on the screen. A symbol he is sure Benny disabled as soon as he had left the house in England behind. A symbol, that he would never turn on again, not with a wealthy ex in the past, who simply doesn’t do breakups. But there it is, blinking happily like a mocking grin from Benedict fucking Arnold: the GPS.

The sign gives Caleb a chill and he is quick to push it off, only to have it go right back on after that. The bastard has installed an app or something on it to track Benny if he would ever run. Shit!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be with Washington again


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Normality, isn't it?

Ben couldn't find his phone the next morning, nor does Caleb remember where he had last seen the damn thing. They settle for getting a new one, a simple cheap one, because honestly, Ben feels like he should have done that the moment he left the house. It feels wrong to have something that Benedict gave him. He had wanted to be careful with the money he had gotten for the necklace he sold. There was no telling after all when he would get a new job or how long he could stay with Caleb. The last time he had depended on somebody is still vividly in his mind after all. He shakes his head and rubs his wrist absently, the scar of the operation still lumpy, even through the fabric of his sweatshirt.

This is Caleb, Ben reminds him, letting his wrist go. They have known each other since Caleb was able to throw a ball at Ben’s head and knock him over in the swimming pool back home- accidentally of course. It also has been the only time Caleb ever hurt him. To be honest, Caleb was more likely to get hurt because of Ben, never backing down from a fight he considered important for his friend’s honor or reputation. One thing seems to have been solved already. With a bit of luck, he is soon to be out of Caleb’s hair.

Ben gobbles down some cereal, with Hobbit begging him with all his charm to spare him a few bites and then dashes out to catch the subway in fear of being late, waving goodbye at his friend. As soon as Ben is around the corner, Caleb takes a cab to the airport. Caleb looks over the crowd, searching for the right person. Young, into tech and not rich enough to have it already… There!

It barely takes five minutes for him to sell the damn cell of Benny's he hid away to some kid, who considers himself lucky to get his hands on the awfully expensive new iPhone for a fraction of the price. The only credit Caleb has to give him, is when the boy asks why it is so cheap and why Caleb doesn’t want it anymore, but he is prepared. Caleb plainly states that the only problem with the phone is a bug with the GPS (one way to put it) which had his (imaginary) girlfriend running because she has a minor paranoia that the government would spy on her. Obviously, there are people dumb enough either to believe the story or back it up but the kid doesn’t ask any further and simply pays for the phone. Caleb only hopes that Arnold will believe it. He really wants to spare Benny the conversation about Arnold knowing where he is because Caleb is sure, that would set his friend into a panic attack they would need a doctor to break through.

Ben, meanwhile, enters the museum in the bliss of ignorance and asks for the office of Mr. Sackett. He still is in a good mood today, probably the remains of yesterdays evening with Caleb, and can even give the old lady behind the counter a small smile as he thanks her for the directions.

“Ah, you are the new one, Mr. Sackett has told me about. The one for the children tour. He seemed quite taken with you and I sure can see why. Such a lovely, young boy with excellent manners.” She smiles- unknowing that she just ruined Ben’s mood in an instance. Such a good boy… My good boy… Didn’t I tell you to be a good boy?... He forces back a wince. Not here, now isn't the time.

The old woman, on the other hand, is already occupied with another person. His luck- or so he thought. “Good morning, Mr. Washington. Can I help you with something?”

Ben literally whirls around on the balls of his feet. He had been so lost in his thoughts he missed the other man’s footsteps completely. Washington… So much about not seeing him any time soon. Ben looks at the older man and the blank gaze has him flinching yet again.

“Thank you, Mrs. Bolten, I just wanted to see Mr. Sackett. Lovely picture you have there by the way.” He gestures to her cell wallpaper on the shelf that shows a young couple grinning into the camera. “Your daughter?”

Mrs. Bolten is beaming at Washington now and some part of Ben’s brain, that isn’t fighting another panic attack, is observing that it is rather nice of the man to show such an interest in a person that low beneath him. Not even one more vote could have Benedict show interest in such a thing, he is sure of it.

“Mine is the boy, actually. But it doesn’t really matter now anyways. In a week, they are married and I can state they are both mine.”

Washington’s lips curl into a smile and he looks younger like this, nicer. “Make sure to give them my congratulations, Mrs. Bolten.” With that, he turns to Ben. “Shall we?”

Ben only stares at him. Shall they what?

Another smile, a bit sarcastic this time, if Ben is not mistaken. “Come now, Mr. Tallmadge, I read you CV and you’re clever enough to figure it out on the way- or do you want to find Mr. Sacket’s office alone?”

Ben forces an apologetic smile while fighting a blush over his own stupidity. “No, sir, and thank you for your help.”

Washington gives him a small nod and leads him up the stairs. They are nearly at the second floor until Ben realizes what Washington had let drop so very casually: The man had read his CV, his life. It makes a shiver run down his spine and he missteps. Stumbling, he sees the floor coming nearer. Not another hospital, is all he can think, before he prepares himself for the inevitable. It doesn’t come.

The soft baritone of Washington filters through his ears, much closer suddenly, but strangely soft. “Careful, Mr. Tallmadge, it would be a shame to have you not present at our meeting.”

Ben can’t stop his eyes from flicker over to the hand on his arm. The man has saved him, been nice to him, but still he feels the old fear creeping up again at the touch, illogical as it is.

Washington’s brow furrows ever so slightly before he releases Ben’s arm, he takes a step back and gives him a thoughtful glance, something Ben hadn’t thought the man capable of. “You are pale, Mr. Tallmadge. Are you certain you should be working? If I recall correctly, you were rather sick yesterday.”

So, he remembered the impolite escape that Ben had taken upon seeing him. His stream of bad luck really would never end, would it? “I wanted to apologize for yesterday, sir. I know, it must have looked rather rude. My only defense is that it was not intended as insult to you or anything you might represent.”

Washington doesn’t show his feelings on his face like most people do, something that makes him hard to read, but at least, he also isn’t screaming in fury like Benedict would at that point either, what has Ben relaxing ever so slightly. When the man speaks at last, his words are only accompanied by a little smile, bare showing. “Sickness or indisposition is nothing to apologize for, Mr. Tallmadge. I’m nearly curious as to who told you that a person could take offence in it.”

Ben tries a half smile and hopes he can let the subject drop with it. That man wants to run for Mayor of New York, for Congress. So why is he talking pleasantries with a nobody named Benjamin Tallmadge? The idea of simple kindness is something Ben can’t even consider. “I doubt you know each other.”

Washington’s stare knows no pardon. “Try me.”

His name, he has to say HIS name. Ben’s breath gets caught in his throat, strangling him with the two words, that hold more emotions for him than they ever should. When he finally manages to get the sentence out, it is barely a whisper, “His name was Arnold.”

“Benedict Arnold?”

The question has him taking a few steps back, before he knows what he’s doing. His back is suddenly pressed against a glass box with the duplicate of a legionary sword and helmet, both probably worth a small fortune and not to be touched, nor their box, but Ben doesn’t care right now, he probably wouldn’t register it any more if he would press himself right into an original sword. His mind went painfully blank at Washington’s words, only one thought ringing through it like the drums before some execution: They know each other. Washington knows Arnold.

Ben stares up at the man and isn’t even able to run anymore, but can only tremble like some deer caught in the spotlight. Over, it is all over. Benedict is only another phone call away. He…

Washington smooth voice cuts through his panic with ease, “I see we like him just the same.”

Ben looks up at Washington, who is casually leaning against the glass box as well and waving some security man away, like he owns the place. (He probably does.) But Ben can’t really comprehend why the man came over to him, why he doesn’t just walk up to Sackett’s office and is done with him. After all, Ben is only stealing him his very important and valuable time. All Ben can do is trying to understand what he just heard. Will he really not have to go back to him? He only barely stops himself in time to ask the question and make himself look even more pathetic.

Washington pushes himself away from the box, an eyebrow raised as if he and Ben just had a simple but intriguing conversation. “Now, that we understand each other, shall we?”

They make it to the bureau without any other embarrassments from Ben, who simply trots after the older man, wondering how much Washington knows about Benedict, about him. The idea of somebody besides Caleb knowing the dirty little secrets he had so desperately tried to forget and leave in the past is sickening- as is the idea of a meeting with such a person.

Competence, he tries to remember. He is more than these secrets, more than the past. He tries to remember his favorite authors back in Yale. What did Seneca always teach in his letters, he hears his old professor say in his head again. Ataraxia, Ben murmers, barely audible. He has never been as good in achieving it as he has been in translating the words, but at least they give his mind some comfort, some distraction. Kids, Latin, History, nothing impossible. Not even Washington or Benedict can spoil that.

“Ah, I was worried you couldn’t make it, George.”

This has Ben’s head snapping up. Apparently, they made it into the office and a nice one it is. Less folders, more books. Books and a painting of the orient, clearly romanticized by the painter, but a pretty piece. The dark furniture makes the whole room homely. Despite himself, Ben finds himself relaxing.

“I apologize, Nate. I had an interesting conversation with your young Historian over there. I can only congratulate you on your choice.”

Ben gapes at him. The man can’t be serious! Was he just saved by some millionaire and potential new president for being late? Better not to think about it right now. “You wanted to see me, sir.”

Mr. Sackett claps his hands together and gestures to the chairs. “Yes, yes. But first, how much time do you have, George?”

“Not much. A bit more, if you don’t mind my head of finances calling in for the newest developments on Wall Street.”

Mr. Sacket waves him off, stating it would be no problem at all and that he wishes him luck with his new coupe. “So, the kids tour. Mr. Tallmadge, I think it best to discuss the financial issues first, so George can leave.”

Financial issues? “I’m sorry, sir, but I was unaware that this would require that much funds.”

“Books, material for classes, not to forget the tour itself… I want it to be a success. I’ve seen the numbers of these stupid snoopers the current Mayor has sent us. Too few families they say and that is something he cannot have. He and his pseudo interest in families.” The old man huffs. “If we aren’t careful, our funds will be cut and he will build a new swimming pool or something like this, everything to get reelected.”

Politic… Ben grimaced but luckily his boss takes it as a sign of approval to his words and fulminates another five minutes, till Washington interrupts him with a soft voice. “Right, back to the point. Your ideas on the whole think, Mr. Tallmadge.”

His ideas? The question catches him off guard for a second. When was the last time somebody had asked for them? “I… I think we should try to make it a bit more fun than the normal tours, especially for smaller kids. Like something they can experience and touch, rather than just look upon. For the books, I know a good one.”

“Experience?”, Sacket huffs. “Well, you are the expert. As long as they don’t destroy everything, I think touching history might not be the worst idea.”

Encouraged by his boss’s words, Ben continues, “Maybe we could get some cloaks and helmets. Kids love this kind of things, dressing up and playing along, and we could get a real toga, so they can see how the Romans dressed if not in battle. For one of my own classes, I once built a model of a fort, so they could see it, rather than simply listen about the construction. The kids back at school rather liked it. And of course, boys love sword fights.”

Mr. Sackett’s eyes become twice the size of his glasses by this. “Sword fights?”

Ben is sure he has lost all his luck with his new boss right here and now, but a smooth voice to his right has the man quieting down in no time. “Your grandchildren are girls Nate, which gives you little to no idea how to deal with boys and I don’t think Mr. Tallmadge was proposing actual swords. Anyways, I like the idea.”

“Of course not," Ben is quick to confirm. God, what was his boss thinking of him?

Mr. Sacket huffs. “Swords, dressing up, touching… Why not. It sounds like a thing for a birthday party to be honest. Lilly had something like this in the zoo last month.”

“Something we could organize," Ben quickly interjects, “With some riddles and a cake, a laurel wreath for the birthday child. I think I even remember Happy Birthday in Latin.”

Mr. Sacket stares at Ben for a whole minute but when he finally does speak again, he looks like a little child himself. “A birthday party in a museum, did you hear that, George? The idea! I think Lexy finally did find the right man.”

But Washington isn’t answering him right away, but reaching for his buzzing phone. He listens for some time, the whole room quiet, eyes on him. Ben is sure he has never seen someone receiving a report concerning money with such a smooth face.

“Sorry, Nate." Washington finally says across the phone, hushing whoever he is talking to on the line for a second. “This will take longer. Send the bill to my office, Alexander will take care of everything. The first birthday party is on me.” With that, he picks his bag up and swiftly leaves the office, that looks suddenly much grander without his presence cramping everything.

“First party on him? Well, that certainly will make it even more interesting.” Mr. Sacket rubs his hands together and a crazy twinkle appears in his eyes. “So, helmets, cloaks, togas… I think you have some shopping to do, Mr. Tallmadge. Just do make it back in time for the first tour.”

“The first tour?” He would never be able to get all of these things today.

“Yes. Didn’t Lexy mention? A school class is coming in and now with you hired, Adam doesn’t have to bear the kids- or they him to be totally frank.”

Maybe it is the meeting, that went rather swift, maybe it is the simple distraction of normality, but Ben only smiles. “When are they coming, sir?”

“After lunch. Middle school, 8th grade I think.”

Washington won’t tell Benedict, his ideas were received well and he has some kids to teach again. For a moment, Ben is nearly happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be George's POV. Can't wait to hear what you think about him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And here is George...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, there will be a mild mention of violence at the end, nothing grafic but I thought I'd better warn you in case you want to skip this one.

Washington ended the phone call with his head full of finances but happy to have bet on the right horse. They had just made a small fortune with him swimming against the tide and not giving a damn about the supposed drop of the stocks of that hotel chain in Asia. Dengue Fever reports had been floating the doctor’s offices, but he knew just how far his boys were with their vaccine- a vaccine against all of the dengue types and therefore the first to be of any use.

His labs will be able to release the vaccine on the market before the main holiday season and save the day for a lot of tourists- and the hotel employees. It won’t even matter that he has planned on giving the injections over to WHO for a fraction of what they are worth, the stocks would cover it, more than cover it actually. It looks like the only thing he had to do to make a new fortune was spending money on a hotel chain and giving the guys at Nature a financial push to post the paper of his scientists an edition earlier. Hardly a crime, after all, even the people from the journal agreed that the boys deserved the publication.

Washington walks down the stairs, eyes scanning over the paintings and exhibits on the walls, tempting the visitors into their realms. A child behind him is nearly crying as her parents try to persuade her into visiting the reconstruction of a real vampire burial out of Scotland that the museum traded a year again for a mummy the Scottish experts wanted for their exhibition about some sun god under Ikhnaton. The child seems mortified by the idea of his parent's choice of free time but Washington can only shake his head about so much pamperedness.

He would have begged for something like this as a child. He wondered if Tallmadge’s plan would really work out. The boy seemed quite sure of it.

Tallmadge… Washington comes to a halt in front of the glass box the boy had ran into as he had said Arnold's name. The look on his face… He has never seen anybody going that pale in a second. Washington thinks back at the strange exit the boy had made upon seeing him. Curious, more than curious. Curious has never been a good thing with Benedict Arnold involved.

The strangest thing is that Tallmadge had seemed rather familiar. Not like someone he had really interacted with, but still. He could swear he had seen the boy’s face before. But where?

Washington strides down the last few stairs, deep in thought. Was it just a resemblance? A pretty face that looked like someone he had known? He thought back at the CV he had read through. Excellent marks, great letter of recommendation. He wasn’t sure what to make of that talent wasted on a school, but then again, he himself had never been to High School so no telling if it was a waste or not.

Washington waves absently at Mrs. Bolton and makes a mental note to have his secretary sent some flowers or better, something that would last for the wedding. The woman deserves the happiness and it is always easier to have people talking about pleasantries than digging into his real private life. When they are finished, he wouldn’t even be able to show his face in his own office, he is sure of it- except for Alexander maybe.

He pulls the woolen cloak around himself and walks to the street, waving down a cab for himself. He tells the man the address of his office and looks out of the window as the museum is replaced by shops and banks. He sighs and wishes once again he could spend more time there. Maybe he’ll have time in the evening before the phone conference with China. The place has him calmed like no yoga lesson or walk in the park could ever do.

He fishes his phone out of his cloak pocket and hits the button for speed dial. There is only one number programmed into it for that purpose, so no choosing needed. It rings only once before the call is answered.

“Boss? What’s wrong?”

Washington chuckles. “Stop talking with your mouth full of yet another one of these horrible donuts, Alex.”

“It was a hotdog, pa.”

“I see.”

He hears the other man swallow and takes a bit of malicious pride when the brat coughs on his hotdog. Absently he shakes his head about Alex, but at least they progressed far enough for him to behave on a formal dinner.

God, sometimes he could swear the other man was still the teenager from Mexico City and not his right hand man, unknown heir to the company with a wife and some freshly hatched twins. Washington only hopes the mother has them better educated than he had managed with the handful of a sixteen-year-old he brought back from that meeting in Mexico nearly fifteen years ago.

“I’m decant again, George.” He can practically hear his protégé grinning.

He closes his eyes for a moment and exhales to calm himself down. Still, better a teasing handful that never outgrew his nonexistent childhood manners, than having Alex knowing the truth.

He doesn’t want to think about what the man that became something between son and brother to him would have to say about it. Washington sighs and concentrates on the here and now. “I hope you will continue to be.”

“How can I be of assistance?” All the sudden, totally well behaved, without an ounce of sarcasm.

So, Washington thinks upon hearing the brat showing that good manners, his secretary made an appearance. “Tell, Mrs. Cortez to arrange for a wedding present to be sent to a Mr. Bolton and his soon to be wife. Something young people need. A gift card from IKEA or some plane tickets to Disneyland, I don’t know. The wedding is this weekend.”

He hears some talking in the background, then, “She wants to know which church.”

“And I thought I pay people like the two of you to find that out.”

Alex chuckles. “Sunny mood, I see. Anything else?”

“Find me anything you can get on a Ben Tallmadge, probably a short form of Benjamin or something like this.”

The chewing that follows his words has Washington wincing and he thinks about the new pen he had given Alex only days ago- and not for a snack. He should have settled for metal instead of tropical wood, he realized a bit late. Looks like the babies' behavior is rubbing off on daddy.

“You have something to narrow it down? With a search worldwide, I’m sure the name won’t be that rare.”

He is thankful that Alex is back to business again. He likes his protégé, but somehow Washington is sure he couldn’t stand a tease on this subject. He thinks back to the boy, the brilliant blue eyes that held so many emotions in them. Great, he groans inwardly, exactly what he has needed. Just when he thought he had beaten the whole thing out of himself. “He graduated from Yale about four or five years ago. Latin and History if I remember correctly. And, Alex, I mean really anything. No matter where you have to dig- or how deep.”

Homeschooling to catch up before graduation, Harvard and the bail because of hacking had been Washington’s best financial investments so far- and Alex is not about to let him down on this one. “Consider it done.”

The cab pulls into the driveway of the new, glittering tower in which the bureaus of Washington’s company are located in New York half an hour later. He gives the driver the money and an extra-large tip, not wanting to hear a word about anything he hadn't said or about any person he hadn’t been with in the cab with him in some newspaper and heads into the building. He steps out of the elevator and takes a second to gaze at the city. Not as nice as it is at night but still pretty. From far above, even the smog of a city can be nice.

He turns around as his desk clerk greets him and forsakes the panorama for the folders she hands him. He scans over them. “Anything special?”

The woman points at something down the list. “A reporter of NBC wants to know about the rumors that you want to run for Congress.”

Reporters again. He fumbles blindly for the coffee pot his secretary put on the shelf for him upon seeing him enter. “Thanks, Mrs. Cortez. Make yourself one as well, will you? Same coffee beans, I’m sure you earned it.” He takes a sip and nearly moans at the strong taste of the wickedly expensive beans. It is worth any cent, that much is for sure. “What did my marketing expert say in this matter? Shall I grand the guy his interview? And with what reply?”

“You’d be a wonderful Congressman, sir.”

Washington looks up at his secretary and chuckles. “Don’t let anybody hear that or they will say I pay you all for pleasantries. I have a reputation to uphold and softness will win me nothing in the business competition. Now, back to work, all of you! I want a statement about the scientist's achievement on the homepage and in at least two great newspapers and write something about our new hotel chain. Don’t forget to include some ideas about how to tie them more strongly to the main company. No notices so far, I want to see who we got first. A new broom sweeps clean but the old one knows the corners and I bet there are many we are yet unfamiliar with. Make an announcement I will set a meeting with the staff of that company and not dismiss anybody before at least the new year has started. And find somebody to translate that in all the languages of the people that now work for us. Some student at the university sure needs a bit extra money." He looks up while Mrs. Cortez is still scribbling down notes on her tablet and scans the room irritably. “And somebody finds me Alexander. The twins can’t be sick again after all or I swear, I will have to pay the rent for half of his apartment as an extension of this bureau."

“He is in your office, sir”, the trainee of… somebody peeped. “I said that would be ok with you.”

He nods some vague thanks and grabs his coffee pot. “Make me another, Mrs. Cortez, will you? Or on second thoughts, just make a can.”

He enters his own office, happily shutting the buzzing noise out as the reporter telephone rings yet again. Let some employee deal with it for now.

“Congrats, you just made about, let me see... Five million on a wim if you want to trust the blogs, not counting the bull market of the stocks, that are suddenly more desired than a kiss from a pretty actress.”

Washington lets himself fall into his office chair and lightly hit the brat's leg. “Feet off my desk, Alex.”

Alex obeys, but his brow is furrowed. “You wished for more than the five?”

“It doesn’t matter and we both know it. It is nothing more than a nice hobby compared to our actual work. So tell me, any luck with tracing the hacker?”

Alex sobers in an instant, worry in his eyes. God, he suddenly looks so old that Washington feels bad, dragging the youth farther into this mess. But what choice did he have? “I followed him through some servers. I lost him in Bengal, but I’m sure it is from our friend. They didn’t break through the walls, they had the passwords.”

Now, Washington takes one of the far too sweet donuts that are standing in a cardboard box on his desk- like always when Alex occupies his office. But Washington has never eaten one, too much of a fan of sweets of a higher quality. That he needs sugar so desperately now is a bad sign, they both know it. “We had the passwords changed.”

Alex steals the cherry from the top of Washington’s donut, but it is only a half- heartily try to lighten the mood. “Yeah… I’m running a program over the whole system right now, looking if I can find a back door.”

“Anything pointing to him? I want him behind bars, no matter how.” Washington’s fist slams into the desk and has the whole thing tremble.

Alex grimaces. “Easy tiger, we need prove and in that resource, I’m afraid we find ourselves lacking.”

That has his mood darken even more. “I thought I pay enough taxes for the state to deploy competent police officers, prosecutors or whatever is necessary to find prove.”

“George, not even I can find real proof.”

Washington looks up from the desk, his eyes a little harder. “You don’t believe me?”

“Me?” Alex snorts. “I hated the guy on first sight and it is more than obvious he is guilty. I mean, he runs to our greatest competitor, who then happens to have the exact same formula for the Hepatitis C meds, we were so close to have ready and the security breach starts with him going to London, but the prosecutor said his hands are tied. He needs something solid, no matter how much he likes to help us and how logical this is. Plus, he is in London now.”

Yeah, clever he had always been. And he had thought the man a friend! That hurt even more than the millions he lost. Money was replaceable after all. Now, time to dig a bit deeper. “Have you something for me on Tallmadge?”

This has Alex grabbing for his new tablet and the old grin is back on his face. “How much do you already know?”

Washington thinks back at the CV and the fear in his blue eyes. “The obvious and that he has crossed paths with Arnold someday. Didn’t seem pleasant.”

The euphemism has Alex snoring. “Not pleasant? One way to put it. Apparently, Arnold has a bright side and it is all rainbow- that is if he isn’t beating up his boyfriend.”

Arnold is… Washington dares a glance over to his protégé, but Alex face doesn’t really show if it’s the first or the second part of this revelation, that has him that disgusted. “They were together?”

He stops the tablet, when Alex shoves it over, looking at a couple of photos, that look like out of a magazine. A pretty house, holidays in Europe, the boy, grinning and looking more than just pretty- only next to each other, he sees the subtle change. A thinner form, a stronger grip, the smile more forced. God, he must have terrified the boy with the casual mention of Arnold's name. One picture he remembers. It had been on Arnold’s phone. A youth, grinning in the camera in a graduation uniform. Back then, Washington had it dismissed as a nephew or godson. So, that is way Tallmadge seemed so familiar. He clicks at the next photo, that has him nearly dropping his donut.

“Aye, not so pretty anymore, right? That one is a couple of weeks old. There are more, some worse, some better, some with a surgery report to it. I think you get the picture."

Washington nods, starring at the beaten face of the boy he had talked to only hours ago. “Please tell me there is a trial.”

He isn’t sure why he is suddenly having a feeling of over protectiveness inside him. Maybe because he should have stopped Arnold long before this, maybe because it simply seems wrong to beat someone to a pulp that left his country, friends and home for you, somebody so young. If anyone would do that to Alex, there wouldn’t be a need for a prosecutor. Why hadn’t the boy had anyone to do the same for him? He looks up, not daring to look at his blue eyes any longer. Arnold better doesn’t show his face in the states again, Washington thinks with a growl, or the prosecutor would have a slightly different case.

Alex gives him a sad look across the tablet. “You know how this goes and honestly, I’m pretty sure it is even worse when the victim is a strong, young man. The jury would rather think it was a bar fight than anything else.”

Washington is certain that picture will haunt him. A bar fight, as if. “Anything else?”

“Nothing besides some nice grates and an erased Facebook profile- from the date they left this nice country.” Alex shoots him a quizzical glance. “Not what you thought, pa?”

Washington exhales slowly. “I’m not sure. Maybe I’m getting paranoid, but I thought that it might be a setup from Arnold.”

“Believe me, not even I am so much in love with this company or you as to let someone beat me into the hospital.”

“The pictures are true than?”

“Yup, had them checked out by some kid that makes an internship here. The boy is a natural with photoshop. Taught even me some new tricks.”

Washington doesn’t look up from his coffee pot, still deep in thoughts. “Hire him.”

“He’s fourteen.”

“Get a lawyer and make it legal. Hire him.”

Alexander sends him a grin. “Don’t replace me in your heart that quickly, pa.”

That has him looking up. Washington catches Alex’s hand and gives it a squeeze. “Never.”

“So, you want to use Tallmadge for information? The boy sure has heard something, even if he isn’t aware of it.”

Use him? That has been the plan, but now he feels guilty only thinking about it. “I’ll try to earn his trust. The boy is easily spooked as far as I can tell from our meeting today.”

Alex takes a sip of that awfully sweetened Starbucks thing he calls a coffee. “Don’t you open up a youth center in the area where your whole glamour started?”

Washington feels himself stiffen ever so slightly. “And?”

“There is also a tutorial program and a talent support as far as I know.” Alex shrugs. “He is a teacher and the museum needs kid friendly headlines. A win-win.”

“The crème de la crème will be there, acting like they care and you think this will have him talking to me about his happy past?”

“He knows nobody else there, doesn’t he? Just be a more charming than you are usually when you step outside this bureau. You have been with me and see how it worked out. If you smile occasionally, you might even find yourself married one day.”

“The photoshop kid, new passwords, a report to the prosecutor, Benedict’s bank accounts, no matter if we can use them against him in court and a statement for the press- and have lunch with your wife and twins.”

“You’ll be a great president once, you know? But for that you’ll have to marry.”

Washington waves the brat off, not wanting to linger on that subject again. So, Arnold simply got himself a boy and went to London. He rubs his temples and tries not to think back at the holiday photos from some beach in Spain. Something like envy rushes through him, but he is quick to put it aside. Still, he would be lying to say he doesn’t look forwards to befriending Benjamin Tallmadge- and that is a greater problem than Alex can ever know.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plan unfolds

A couple of hours isn’t a lot of time to prepare anything too special but he tries still. He jogs through the exhibition himself, looking at what the museum has to offer and taking mental notes about pieces he wants to include into his tour.

Some vases, a lot of vases to be honest, but that will hardly make the kids interested in the Roman time, some busts of Emperors, gravestones, a sword, coins, a replica of a forum, an original ship and some things of daily life of both civilians and soldiers. He looks up to the proud face of Augustus and makes a decision.

War stories! That always got kid's attention, at least when he can make them sound exciting. A quick tour through Amazon makes him certain, he will manage.

At his lunch break, Ben is more than happy to buy a new cell, if only to avoid any more questions of his new colleagues.

Apparently, he is something like an exhibit himself for them. Most of the time he tries to brush it off as the fact he was in Europe, a place most of them have never been to, but not all questions can be explained by this like when he practically flees from some girls, that have him nearly circled, asking about his plans for the weekend. 

He had never been closer to simply scream out that he is gay just to have less people checking him out. After only half of his first day here, he is certain that the museum is worse than a provincial town could ever be. He shudders and pushes the door to the nearest electronic shop he can find open.

Some hip hop beat drums into his ears as soon as he sets foot inside, making Ben more than certain that the kid behind the counter is enjoying his time without the boss. He makes a gum bubble and grins at Ben. “Need something special?”

“A mobile.”

The boy blinks. “Come again?”

“Sorry, my fault. A cell.”

That has the boy grinning. “British?”, he asks while dashing to a locked rack with smartphones in it, fumbling with the keys.

Did he really adapted that much of an accent there? “I just spent a couple of years in London.”

Ben looks over the cells the boy handed him. The kid knows his stuff, this much Ben can tell after only a minute, for he is probably even able to explain the meaning of all the tech words that he can only guess about but Ben doesn’t have the time for it, nor the nerves.

He sighs, Benedict had always been the tech fan of the two while Ben had preferred it old school. Funny, given that he had been the younger one. “I just want to be able to ring someone. It doesn’t need to be a new world wonder," Ben points out, avoiding looking at the iPhone Benedict had given him only weeks ago as a redemption.

“To bad, I would give this one a try. Nice, especially for its prize.”

Ben whirls around and finds himself face to face with a Hispanic, a bit older than himself, grinning at him. The man has an air of expensiveness around himself that doesn’t really fit in the little store and something under his arm, that looks like an oversized camcorder duo.

“Sorry, this stuff kind of always overexcites me. Alexander Hamilton," He struggles to shift his camcorder safely under one arm and holds out a hand that Ben reluctantly takes.

“Ben Tallmadge.” So, Ben figures, apparently, he also got used to the elegant restrain Europeans practice- or he is simply not used to talking to people anymore, especially strangers. As some kind of excuse, he picks the phone Hamilton pointed out up. It’s nice, not what Benedict would have chosen, but that makes it even nicer in Ben’s eyes. The only downside is that it costs more than he had planned to spend, but he has a job now and Caleb would probably not like it if he comes home with something that can’t at least do WhatsApp. The clock is what has him deciding. “I’ll take this one and a prepaid card.”

The kid runs his credit card, looking over to Hamilton. “Keep doing that and you’ll have to do my job permanently, man.”

“Only if you can give my day another ten hours. Now, work for you, Chris. The baby phones broke again. Christ, if we would produce that bad no one would buy a thing that has our name on it ever again.”

The boy grins and gives Ben his credit card back. “Maybe, but it’s the only baby phone that has a camera in it, that can connect itself with your tablet so you can play big brother from wherever you’re working. Pretty sure the company will survive therefore as long as your kids are still kicking.”

So, the man is only a regular in this shop, Ben soothes himself. God, he really is a mess. He can only hope that this will end soon or he really should consider seeing a doctor. Fumbling with the SIM-card, he steps aside to let the others do their business.

“Wait a minute, let me.” Hamilton all but grabs for his cell. “Even if the whole baby phone story makes me sound like the horror to technic in general, I’m actually pretty good with it and you look kind of in a hurry. Works calling again?”

Ben smiles politely, not able to do much else. It is nice of Mr. Hamilton to help him after all and being nice has never been something bad but rather a trait that was typical for this city. He remembers the question a bit late, but Hamilton doesn’t seem to mind. “Yes. I have a group of kids coming in in fifteen minutes and I would hate to be late.”

“Teacher?”

Ben fidgets a bit at that. Why was everyone so interested in him suddenly? “I work at the museum right now. Tour guide for children.”

“Museum kids tour? Well, better than have them staring at some broken things I guess. When mine are older, I’ll make sure to give it a try.”

After some more fumbling and a quick load on a transportable power bank Hamilton just happens to have with him, to make sure the cell will actually come on at all, Ben is back outside with a new phone in his hands. A new phone he bought with his own money and of which Arnold doesn’t have the number for. It is a damn good feeling because finally he is his own man again. 

Ben can’t stop grinning for the rest of the walk back to museum, his phone in one hand, a hotdog in the other. He really needs to remember to bring himself something healthier for lunch though.

Back in the museum, Mary tells him that the class has called in to tell them they wouldn’t make it in time because of a traffic jam on the interstate. Ben sighs, nothing new, nothing he won’t hear every other day from now on. He thanks Mary, who is off after this to give her opinion on some coins that someone had claimed to be of Viking origin. She has to determine the age, both of the metal and the minting, before a Viking expert will give a final statement, she explains. Ben wishes her a good lab day and secretly is more than glad he just had to learn these things once for a test. With nothing else to do, he takes out his new phone and gives Caleb a ring, if only to let him know of his new number.

“Bennyboy, see you got a new one.”

Some talking in the background has the old, cautions question on his lips again, quicker than he can even think. “Is it a bad timing?”

“For you? Never! You are lucky though. Just got out of the reptilian house. Feeding time, you know. Guess you wouldn't want to partake, not even over the phone.”

Ben shudders thinking about sweet ten foot Polly being manually feed by his best friend. He isn’t as sure as Caleb that it had been a promotion from kangaroos to crocodiles. “You’re still in one piece?”

Caleb huffs loudly, but most of it is for show. “Stop it, Ben, they are sweethearts! The lions are far worse. A couple of years back, one of them got his zookeeper through the slit in which he wanted to lay the beef. Poor guy needed quite a lot of stiches.”

Ben shakes his head at his friends once again. He was like one of those dog owner that would state their pet couldn’t harm a fly while you were already half digested. “Is that supposed to reassure me? Because if so, you are doing a horrible job, Caleb.”

“Come now, everybody has a bad day once in a while, even Hobbit.”

That has Ben laughing wholeheartedly and he can’t stop himself from teasing. “Only if you would ever run out of food for him.”

“Or you jog with him again," Caleb counters. “So, anything new down there between the dead and their stuff? Unknown treasures to hunt, Dr. Jones? I always wanted to test karate, you know? I could defend you against the bad guys while you solve some ancient riddles.”

Back to the clichés again! But it feels good. It reminds Ben of long nights on the beach with Caleb while he was still studying. Just them, some cookies and more jokes than anybody would think them capable of while being sober. Caleb can do that to you, get you to topple over with laughter in mere seconds. “I’ll tell you if I find a cursed mummy or Salomon’s ring.”

“I hope so. And besides that? What news from the front of education?”

“I’m allowed to make the kid's tour like I want and get even more money, enough to buy some things for it.”

“Nice, but still no shopping binge, you hear me, Benny? Don’t want them to be penniless.”

Ben really doubts that he could ever make George Washington penniless, even if he would try to do so, but before he can say anything else, the first kids run up the stairs. “Sorry, gotta go.”

___

Washington makes it back to the museum far earlier than he would have guessed. Alex really relieved him of a great load of work, he thinks with a fond smile as he nods a greeting to Mrs. Bolton. His appearance in the meantime has the whole foyer suddenly deadly silent, all eyes on him. Washington himself, however is studying a new painting over the stairs he hadn’t registered this morning. Modern art, a bit too colorful for his usual taste, but he likes the motive. The skyline of the city in the silhouettes of the people passing by except for one kid that has a burst of colors, figures and creatures in mind. It reminds him of Alex as a teenager, buzzling with ideas, dreaming of something way out of his reach and of Ben, with his eyes brightening as he speaks about his ideas for the kid's tour.

Washington pushes the last one forcefully away and takes a quick shot of the badge, saying the artists name and number for potential buyers. So, he thoughts, climbing the stairs, it is time for the art students again to float through the museums and banks with their newest work. He probably should look through the website of the faculty or better, have an art expert do it. He could use some new paintings for his new hotel chain after all- and it wouldn’t be the first time he buys a picture off a student that is worth a tenfold of his price in a couple of years. He texts Alex a quick message to have Mrs. Cortez set a meeting with his trusted art expert on the matter. Washington hasn’t reached the first floor yet, before his cell is buzzing with an answer. The brat really was the best!

One thing Alex is unfortunately also good in, as Washington had to find out again today, is being persistent, very persistent even when it comes to his ideas- and his newest is to catch Arnold through Benjamin Tallmadge.

It probably shouldn’t really surprise Washington, that before he was half way through his meeting with his media mediator to discuss the upcoming interview and the question about his political career that has the city and his office phones buzzling, the brat stuck his head in the door and tossed a note into his lap, saying that Ben Tallmadge had his first tour today- a wonderful timing for a chat that would lead to an invitation to the opening of the youth center. The brat had even scribbled down that Washington better smiles while suggesting Ben’s presence there or it would sound like an order to an execution.

It is of course a good idea, an excellent one even, considering they are in desperate need of dirt on Arnold, anything that would give them an opportunity to get him behind bars. It might even be enough to have the boy report the abuse he had suffered. The London police would unearth enough to be allowed to search the laptop of the man. Last time, the experts hadn’t been able to find anything of the missing data on it, not a shred, not on the laptop nor on anything else that could hold the data and a week later, Arnold had been in Britain and their chances of ever getting him more then limited. But Washington just knows the man has his codes- and the formulas of at least the Hepatitis C meds, if not of a lot more.

Benjamin Tallmadge is a new hope for them- but Washington hesitates to use it to its fullest. The boy had panicked by the mere mention of Arnold after all. It felt wrong to put him through hell again just to get justice for themselves.

“Like hell he did return, John”, Washington hears Ben’s voice as soon as he enters the exhibition about the Romans. So, the tour took a bit longer. Not the worst thing that could have happened he thinks, pushing the guilt away. This will give him a natural discussion starter for the plan.

Ben meanwhile is still answering the kid’s question, “Caesar had more debts in Rome than he could ever pay. He didn’t come back to pay- or be accused of anything. He just conquered more of Gallia and Germania. You can only pay and be sentenced to something, you are in Rome after all- so he simply wasn’t in Rome.”

The teenagers chuckle and even Washington feels a small smile tug at the corners of his mouth. Ben has a way with words, he must give him that, but one of the girls makes a face upon hearing this. “Not really clever though, nor nice.”

A boy bumps into her side. “Shut it, Jenna. Who cares if he was nice and would have won a medal for a good heart? I think it’s cool. And honestly, would you rather pay?”

“Truce, both of you! There’s no need to shove her, John, after all, you seem able to tell her with a normal sentence if you disagree.” His words hold now real steel, but the boy still calms down, even going so far as to mumble something like an apology.

“But he came home someday, didn’t he?” another asks.

Ben laughs. “Sure! With a legion behind him. Marched right into Rome and broke a war loose that had made him dictator for life.”

The boy turns back to Jenna, smirking. “See, like I said. Cool!”

Washington is sure never to have heard that statement as a peroration of a kid's tour before.

The teenagers are still taking photos of them dressed up with a sword replica, helmet and a cloak Ben found on Amazon, the delivery on the same day costing nearly as much as the whole outfit he bought, when Washington approaches him. “That seemed like a success.”

Ben spins around and loses the content smile and his poise somewhere on the way. “Sir.”

He has had warmer welcomes, but for now, he decides to let it be. He isn’t here to press the boy for answers, not today. “The tour seems to be a success. Nice costume by the way.”

That has the grin appear again on the boy’s face. “Yes and thank you by the way for the…” he trails of, searching for the right word.

“I’m glad I could help.” And strangely, he really is. Not because of the museum, even though he loves this place, but because of the boy himself, because of the smile it conjures on is face. But now, with this point of attack, back to business. “To be honest, I came here to ask a bit of a favor of you- both for the museum and for me.”

“Sure, anything.” No hesitation but pure readiness to help, that gives Washington a pretty good idea why Arnold fell for the boy. The man always loved shiny things and Ben sure has a heart of gold.

If Washington is totally honest with himself, he isn’t only smiling right now because of Alex words. “My company opens up a youth center in the Bronx and I wanted somebody there who could actually interact with kids and not just the normal headline addicts.”

Ben gasps at him. “You want me on an official meeting of your company? Me! Why?”

Washington shrugs his questions off. “More like a charity party.”

The word party has him flinching ever so slightly. “I’m a teacher and a museum’s employee with no ties to your company besides your generosity for the museum. I could only embarrass both the museum and you as a host and anyways, I…”

“Nonsense! You will probably safe the reputation of the whole event to actually be about kids. It starts at 4pm. Don’t worry about work, I’ll deal with Nate. A free day shouldn’t be a problem.”

Washington has often been told that he is be a force of nature and that force now has Ben’s excuses all whirled away, he can see it in the boy’s eyes. “Well, I guess it is settled than." Tallmadge says after a moment, clear defeat in his voice.

His hesitation has Washington nearly reconsider his plan but it is too late to back down now and it isn’t like he plans on harming the boy. He only wants to win his trust and to get him to talk.

“Thank you, Mr. Tallmadge. And don’t bother dressing up. My whole staff is attending in casual clothes.”

Ben only smiles weakly. Washington’s casual is his yearly salary after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews make me very happy... ;)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the invitation Ben recieved from Washington is anything but good

“Can you pass me the sweet potatoes, Caleb?”

His friend complies, watching Ben with a sigh. “You really don’t need to cook. No need to earn your stay or whatever you are thinking. I can do it.”

Ben steps over Hobbit, who really is a master of getting in the way in hope of getting you to drop something edible for him and shrugs, even though they both know that Caleb really took the biscuit with that one.

“I like cooking." Ben regardlessly tries to reassure his friend and then, a bit more quiet, “Takes my mind off things when I have something to do with my hands.”

He regrets the words already the next second. “Takes your mind off what, Ben?”

A saber slash couldn’t have been any more forceful or deadly as the blow, Ben deals the potato, but otherwise he keeps quiet.

Caleb stops tickling Hobbit and gets up, a sudden wave a seriousness in his voice. “Ben?”

Ben cuts the sweet potato in little pieces and throws them into the roasting tin, grabbing for the next potato, a clear need for venting his spleen on something.

Only question that remains is: Where did his anger come from in the first place? Hobbit, in the meantime, is pressing himself impossibly close to Ben and is all but begging for the chicken wings on the counter, trying the innocent look, but Ben isn’t looking. “Humpf?”

Caleb dares to stop his friend’s hand from another vegetables murder and waits, till Ben looks at him with annoyance flashing in his blue eyes. “You wanna tell me what’s bugging you? For a couple of hours you’ve been in a fairly better mood. Did the kids kill each other with the sword you bought or what?”

Ben shakes Caleb’s hand from his and delivers another killing blow to their dinner. “I was ordered to attend a party on Friday.”

Caleb steals himself a tomato slice out of the salad bowl. “Ordered? So, all I have to do to get you outside the apartment for something else than running or working is making it an order?” Luckily, he stops himself in time from further joking on a still sensitive subject.

Still, Ben does get the hint and throws him an angry glance and underlies his words with an overkill on the last potato. “Shut it, Caleb. I don’t want to go outside, I don’t want to make friends and I don’t want to go on a party, especially this party.”

Wordlessly, Caleb goes to the fridge and gets two beers he had planned to save for dinner. He opens them and puts one on the breadboard in front of Ben. “Talk to me, Bennyboy.”  
Ben huffs and puts the knife down for a long gulp of beer. He stares at the can, probably seeing something totally different. But Caleb can wait and after a few minutes Ben looks up, anger replaced by apprehension.

“I take it isn’t a birthday party of one of your new colleagues." Caleb tests the waters.

“No.” Another gulp. “Some charity party in the Bronx.”

“Doesn’t sound like fun. By whom?”

Ben picks up the knife and starts hacking, not looking at Caleb as he sighs in defeat. “Washington.”

Caleb nearly drops his beer. “Like as in George Washington?”

“In the flesh.”

The sheer thought has Caleb groaning. “Shit, that does sound even a little fun, but I am sure you can slip away quickly. I had meant to ask you anyways, if you could look…”

“Slip away quickly? Caleb, he didn’t order the museum staff to attend, because we owe him or something. He ordered me.”

Caleb all but forgets what he had wanted to say as he stares at his friend, trying hard not to let his line of thoughts show on his face. The man never had a girl after all- and Ben had a pretty face. “Only you?”

Ben nods and now it is impossible to miss the lines of discomfort on his face.

The beer can hits the counter with a bang. “Say you’re sick or better, really get sick.”

His friend, however, is already shaking his head. “That’s a cheap lie and he will know it. He literally owns the museum I’m working at and is best friends with my boss.”

In this moment, Caleb loses every ounce of sympathy he might have ever held for the man. That is a trap he would have thought Arnold capable off. Looks like they got another of these nice examples of walking, talking mounts of shit at their hands. “Yeah, he may own the museum but not you.”

Ben shakes his head, unsure how to voice what really is bothering him. “It isn’t like this, I just…”

“It brings back memories?”

“Yes." Ben’s voice is soft, even softer when he continues. “I was always at the parties of his company. I knew no one and everybody knew who I was. His plaything, his little boy he brought over. Nobody ever saw me as the Yale graduate who came nearly top of his year, the teacher that was good at his work or the graduate student of Oxford- not that he let me research there a lot. I was just… What will I be on Friday? I don’t belong there between the pretty folk of the city.”

“Why has he asked you there?”

Ben shrugs. “He said he wanted it to be about the kids, not just a see and be seen event. He approached me after the kids tour today.”

And of course, it must be this weekend. The weekend Caleb had been dreading to talk about with Ben- and it was already Wednesday. “Maybe he just wants you to entertain a few kids and grin in a camera while you draw with them or teach them how to fence or I don’t know what can be done in a suit with kids.”

“Casual cloths." Ben mutters over his beer, the half dead potato on the breadboard all but forgotten.

“Casual?” Caleb scraps his beard. “Well, that at least doesn’t sound too bad. And it is Friday night?”

“Yeah, afternoon actually. Why?”

Caleb gives the shoulder of his friend a squeeze. “I’ll only be one phone call away.”

“You have the late shift on Friday." Ben points out, but Caleb waves it off.

“I’ll be there if you need me. You are more important than Polly and Nepomuk.” With that, Caleb pulls him into a bone crushing embrace.

Ben wants to joke that he is honored, after all Caleb all but fell in love with these two scaled monsters, but he can only bring himself to return the hug. He isn’t alone, not this time. “Thank you, Caleb.”

Ben is readying the chicken, the potatoes long in the stove, when Caleb dares to voice what he had tried to tell him for the last week and a half. “It’s the middle of September, Ben and... You know, the day before yesterday was the sixth and…”

Ben freezes, not looking up, not daring to look up. The sixth of September. Caleb had been on the phone that day, quickly ending the conversation as Ben walked into the room. How could he have forgotten? He is careful not to show to much of his inner turmoil on his face- or throw the chicken drumstick into the oven bag like a three-year-old with a temper tantrum. The middle of September… “Anna’s birthday.”

Caleb rubs a hand over his face, looking for a way to break the whole mess to Ben, but he doesn’t see a less hurtful way then simply spilling it out. “We still meet on the boat, you know. Sail to New England, eat what we catch. Like back when we were finished with school. She looks after the boat of my uncle. Still use the same tub.”

Ben remembers the trip. Two weeks of ocean, fish, beer and cheers. A wonderful dream they have come back to on the weekend after Anna’s birthday for Caleb would rent the boat over the peak season for a bit of extra cash. September though, September was their month. They had done this trip every year, a tradition in their clique like doing Secret Santa on Christmas and playing board games whenever they could meet. It was a tradition in their clique. It still is, Ben realizes, but he doesn’t belong to the clique anymore. He shoves the chicken into the stove and bolts from the room, accidentally kicking Hobbit. “I hope you’ll have fun.”

“Benny!”

“Congratulate her in my name.” He really wished he would have a room to shut himself into right now. Maybe jogging in jeans and socks isn’t the worst idea after all, but Caleb blocks the door before he can flee the apartment.

“Ben, I’m sorry and I’m sure if I would ring her, we…”

But he only shakes his head. No, Anna would not reconsider. She hasn’t answered any of his calls and she sure knows he is back in the States and staying at Caleb’s for now. He can blame himself for that since he simply ruined that friendship. Anna ragged him because of Arnold and he overreacted. After severing all contact with his parents, he had been so focused on that love, he couldn’t take the teasing. What could have been a quarrel between friends ended in an argument that broke a lifelong friendship and not just with Anna. They dropped him in Boston and he called his boyfriend, not knowing what else to do, and followed him to England only two days later, because there was suddenly nobody left in the States who could hold him back.

Ben still couldn’t believe that Caleb had agreed to take him in after this and two years of absolute silence. Had he been such a mess on the phone?

“I’ll watch Hobbit.” And with that he flees to the living room and buries himself in one of Caleb’s old schoolbooks he dug up the other day.

Caleb rubs his face and wonders if it could have gone any worse. He needed to talk to Anna about this. It wasn’t like Ben just ended the relationship and now remembered he had friends before. Arnold had probably made sure that Ben wouldn’t and couldn’t reach out for them again. “Benny?”

Ben just pretends to be reading, even if he is only staring at the pages.

 

It is late when the Chinese are settled with the price he had offered them for their new designed lab gear and the cell lines they had managed to develop. Being able to test the products on cells rather than on mice would justify a nice price hike in the products after all, but still, the Chinese had been greedy like a dragon smelling gold. Its been a hard battle and his body arched as if they wouldn’t just have thrown arguments and numbers but real weapons. Maybe he is getting old.

A glass of whiskey is placed in front of him. “You look awful.”

Washington picks it up and takes a sip, stifling a yawn. “Thanks, Alex.”

“No punchy answer? George, now I’m worried. We made a profit of seven million before the stocks closed. It was a good day.”

Washington stares at the glass in his hands. “Yeah, it was. Go home, Alex.”

But his protégé again does the exact opposite. He sinks into a chair next to him and studies the older man, worry clouding his face. “What’s wrong?”

Washington shakes his head, pushing the dark thoughts away for a smile. “Just a long day, Alex. Go home. Eliza is probably still waiting for you with dinner.”

Alex nods and grabs the other man’s arm, enthusiasm suddenly sparkling in his eyes. “Come along. She would love to see you again. You missed Christmas and Thanksgiving last year and nearly the birth and baptism of the twins- even though you are their godfather.”

“I know.” Washington takes another sip of his whiskey, wondering again if he should have refused that job. “I promise, I will be there for their birthday.”

Alex takes the glass out of his hands and forces Washington to look at him. “What about Thanksgiving? Or Christmas? Easter? Sunday?”

The brat receives a glare for this. “Alex, please.”

“We are a family!”

Washington sighs, thinking back at the meeting with his media consultant and the friendly advice the man had given him. “No, you have a family and right now I’m keeping you from them. Go, have dinner with your wife.”

Alex doesn’t move, a knowing look on his face. “The interview?”

Washington nods tiredly and stands up before the brat can press for the actual reason he is in such a fool mood. “I better retire for the night to spare me the makeup they will put on me again for the sake of the cameras.”

“Mayor then.” Alex claps Washington lightly on the shoulder. “You’ll be a good politician.”

Despite himself, a small smile makes its way on Washington’s face. “Thank you, Alex, and now, go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For all of you, who have been curious as to what breed Hobbit is: He is a Japanese Spitz (a lazy one!)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Washington's charity party. What could go wrong with something like that? ;)

The next day goes by in a blur. Ben tries to implement all his plans for the kid's tour and when he is not working he is out running. Long, exhausting jogs that have Hobbit panting and literally dive into the lake that is in the middle of the park where Ben jogs. He tries to make sense of himself, of Washington, of the charity party. If Caleb realizes that Ben is avoiding him, he doesn’t speak up about it, too busy with the preparations for the weekend and Ben is just happy he found an excuse not to see his friend pack and ring Anna or Abe to hear if he should bring something, phone calls that lasts for hours.

Ben suddenly feels lonely and it doesn’t help that strangers always approach him while he is out with Hobbit. The pleasantries between dog owners just reminds him of the conversations he lost, conversations that weren’t about how sweet the dog is or if he should walk him in this weather.

Friday morning has Ben even considering getting a new apartment this very month and enter a sport's club, simply for the sake of starting a normal life again and not mourning his lost one anymore. It is no big issue that get him so far, just Caleb annihilating an enormous amount of chocolate cereals with the justification that he would have to live on fish for the next week. 

Fish, beer and cookies to be correct. The words have Ben losing his appetite and he pushes the bowl of cereal away, mumbling something about a quick run, although Caleb knows that he hates to do sports with a full stomach.

It really is a quick run in the end. Ben just makes it to the newspaper store, where he wants to buy one to look into the housing market, but the moment he enters the shop he nearly topples over because there is the face of none other than Washington on the front page of the papers.

Of every fucking paper. 

The man has a nice smile on his face, not the usual stoic expression Ben is use to and yet he feels a chill running down his spine as he looks into these eyes. The party is this very afternoon and he planned on ignoring that fact till like 3pm or so. But now?

Ben leaves the shop without acquiring anything other than a nausea that was for free and wonders why he hadn’t just borrowed Caleb’s laptop to search online- and if breaking something as a last minute excuse would do.

Caleb is at the door before Ben even has the thing unlocked. “Hobbit missed you. He howled, thinking you would run without him.”

They don’t talk about why Caleb has really been standing there like a mother hen, only seconds away from running after Ben, or about him leaving the next morning and the short time they only had left, nor do they speak about Anna and the rest of the friends, Ben would miss. They don’t even speak of the charity party for quite some time, enough time for Ben’s nerves to get a proper CPR.

Their behavior reminds Ben of the old couples back home avoiding known sand traps. It is nearly time for lunch when Caleb comes back to the last one of their hated subjects. “So, what are you going to wear tonight?”

Ben looks up from the Latin textbook he ordered on Washington’s charge, the same one he had used for teaching in New Haven, and makes a face. Clothes... He hadn’t really considered the question yet. “My usual?” It isn’t an option, he knows it himself, but what else could he say?

Caleb doesn’t even grant the idea an answer. “Did you bring any fancy stuff over? He sure had dandified..."

“No!”, Ben cuts in, voice allowing no further discussion. He would not wear those again, not that he brought much of them to the States anyway. Just the shirt he had worn for the job application, but besides this, his closet is composed of old Yale shirts, holiday souvenirs from before Arnold and basics. 

With a groan, he has to admit that there is no way he can attend anything Washington has planned in them. He forsakes the adventures of Flavia and Quintus he had happily translated in his head, remembering his time as a teacher, for a jacket and some sneakers. “I guess I’ll just do a quick shopping trip.”

Caleb wordlessly grabs for the keys, not even looking at the watch to see if he would make it to his job in time and Ben is hit by a massive guilty conscience.

“Thanks," he finally gets out after they are halfway into the city in some crowded subway.

Caleb only nods and lets the matter slide. “Just don’t run without Hobbit anymore. I think he got a taste for marathon training after all. The race is supposed to be sporty, you know?”

To euphemism the whole shopping trip, they see a lot of different shops and new trends, so in plain English, it is hell! Where are you supposed to look for a charity party that a millionaire will attend to in casual clothes? Caleb tries to get Ben into something more formal, something trendy, but his friend seems to be allergic to this things since Arnold, so after three hours, they make a compromise with beige jeans and a rather expensive blue polo shirt.

Neither of them is particularly happy with the whole idea, but Caleb jokes he read somewhere that this delineated a good compromise. Ben simply waves him off to get to the zoo, if not in time, at least not all too late. For Ben, there is now nothing left to do than head home and get dressed, if he doesn’t want to be late for Washington’s spectacle of a party. 

 

The hackie is looking at him quizzically as he parks the cab behind what looked like the prey from a successful robbery at Mercedes Benz car shop, a very successful one.  
Ben isn’t sure if they all belong to Washington’s company or if he missed scrappage bonus that was only given to German cars, but the cars look wrong in this kind of neighborhood. It’s not shabby, Ben does think, studding the old houses that could use a bit love and money, money the people here don’t have. 

He lived in such a neighborhood while studying himself, he doesn’t look down on them- but the cars seem to. It is like an adipose person walking through a slum where the children are suffering from Kwashiorkor. What an unnecessary showing off!

“Thanks," Ben says a bit late and grabs for his bag when somebody is knocking on the window.

“Let me!” a smooth voice says and hands the driver the tip of his life. “I’m glad you could make it, Mr. Tallmadge.”

Ben looks up and finds himself face to face with none other than George Washington. Damn, that man really was worse than a stalker and this is not exactly a quality Ben finds endearing or flattering. Still, he tries to smile and thanks him for yet another paid bill. Why the hell is that man always so eager to pay his bills?

“Mr. Tallmadge?”

Ben cringes, embarrassment flushing his face as he realized he had just ignored the future Mayor of New York and his host. “I am sorry sir, I didn’t mean to…”

Washington just brushes his apology aside. “No harm done. We are all caught up in thoughts from time to time.”

That was… it was nice from him and it was yet another thing that has Ben wonder. Was he simply over interpreting things? Back at Yale, there had also been fellow students who practically threw their money onto everyone just because they could, but Washington doesn’t streak Ben as a lavish person. On the other hand, he wasn’t really the one to consider an expert on knowing people- far from it.

Not being able to do much else while they walk besides the long line of Mercedes cars, Ben studies the man, if only to check if he is as severely underdressed as he feels like in Washington’s presence, now very much regretting not to have listened to Caleb. But to Ben’s surprise, the man has lost his suit. Not his shirt or jacket, but they are of a less businesslike quality this time. Of course, the whole outfit is probably still more pricy than what Ben owns, but at least it doesn’t stand out that much.

Ben licks his lip, trying to think about something to say, if he should say something at all, when Washington saves him from further brooding. “I see you have taken my advice regarding casual clothes. I’m glad to see it. The kids will be happy to have someone else other than Alex to play with. I also asked some other younger members of projects my company sponsors to attend, but they haven’t arrived yet.” And then, “Ah, I see, Alex made it outside to greet us.”

“George, I swear to god, why didn’t you warn me kids could get that bad. Girls, to be correct and I mean, I have one at home.”

Washington raises an eyebrow and hands over a handkerchief. “Brush the glitter from your face Alex, and stop acting, as if you wouldn’t bath in pink glitter for your little Angelica. As to your question, I was happy to get you in my fingers when glitter wasn’t an issue anymore, so no personal experience in this topic.” He passes a quick eye over the man, searching for other glitter streaks, before turning back to Ben. “Alex, meet Benjamin Tallmadge. And this is my Second in Command so to say. Alex…”

“We met.” Ben’s voice is quiet, but Washington always has had good ears. The look he shoots Alex behind Ben’s back is more than self-explanatory: Meet me inside!

“I see.” Is all Washington says aloud for now.

Alex takes Ben’s hand regardlessly, not showing that he received Washington’s summoning to the less than pleasant conversation but rather showing off a big smile he directs at Ben. “So, museum guy, wasn’t it? You good with kids?”

Ben is still stunned from everything. Washington, talking to a person like he would actually be human, meeting the guy again that helped him with his cell, and now turns out to be Washington’s right hand man. He fights back the sickening feeling of paranoia, the wish to run and hide somewhere where no one will ever find him, but instead forces a smile in return. A coincidence, just a coincidence... He doesn't believe it one second though. “I love kids.”

“My salvation! The girls are tinkering crowns and I seem to be in the need of a bit of practice before I can do that with my own one. Most of the other guests are listening to the lame speech that the mayor is still holding, but I think yours is coming up, George, so they might wake up soon.”

“Speech?” Ben blurs. He isn’t late, is he?

“Don’t worry, Mr. Tallmadge, I didn’t invite you here to listen to political pleasantries but rather for the kids’ sake." Washington is quick to sooth him, which leaves Ben with the question of how the man can be able to pick up his moods so quickly and always have the right answer. Two years ago… 

But now he isn’t even sure if he likes it at all, any of it and especially Washington’s kindness towards him sets him on edge. He would prefer a bit more cool profesionalism from him and less friendliness for nobody ever died because of a strict boss or short Maecenas. He makes a quick escape to the kids and a whirlwind of glitter and ball games which gives him something else to think about for the next hour or so.

 

“What did you do?”

Washington’s normally calm and collected voice is a hurricane, smashing into Alexander as soon as the door is closed behind him.

The younger man ducks his head at that tone for the times he heard it directed at him can be counted one the fingers of one hands and certainly not because he has been a prim youth. Nervously, he licks his lips. This really is more trouble than he thought he'd get into. “George…”

“Do not George me, young man! I have made myself clear about this topic. You were not to approach the boy!”

Alex makes a face at his words. “I didn’t do anything. We ran into one another at a technical store.”

Washington fixes his protégé with a death glare, that has the younger man fidgeting. “Accidentally? Do you really think I’ll believe that, Alexander?”

Full name! That was like the very last warning before Washington would really lose his temper! 

“Fine," Alex admits, feeling like a guilty child, caught with the hand in the sweet box. “Not accidentally but for him it was nothing more than that."

Washington shakes his head in disbelief. Was Alexander blind? “An accidental meeting? The boy nearly bolted when he saw you. I just had him relaxed enough to be able to achieve something tonight and then I learn that you couldn’t follow orders and with the result that was to be expected. Tell me, Alexander, did he look relaxed to you?”

“I didn’t mean to…”

Washington rubs the brick of his nose, sighing. “I know, Alex, but this is important and you have to trust my judgement on this one. I want to catch Arnold even more badly than you but we can’t scare the boy away, like you did with your rash action, not for our sake nor his.”

He is nearly out of the door, when Alex finds his voice somewhere behind his guilty conscience and a bit defiance maked it into his tone, “When we agreed for you to befriend him, I wasn’t aware that would mean he would win your friendship as well. You seem genially worried for him.”

Washington brushes past him, to get to the tribune for his speech, not granting the brat an answer, not that his insubordinate words deserve one. Still, if he is honestly with himself the main reason for him to keep quiet is because he isn’t sure he has an answer. Striking up a real friendship with the boy hasn’t been the plan, not at all. Benjamin Tallmadge has been intended as a means to an end, but truth be told, he likes the boy, too much for him to only be an information source. It couldn’t hurt anybody to really befriend him, could it?

As Washington makes his way to the tribune and holds a speech that ends in roaring applause from a lot of people that probably haven’t listened or understood half of it, his traitorous mind can’t stop to wonder if the thing he really wants could hurt. Would these people still applause him? Would Alex still grin at him? Would his plans to run for mayor of New York still be seen as an already won cause? No need of fooling himself when he is more than sure of the answer.

Washington shakes his head and tries to push these thoughts away but the boy woke up things in him he had suppressed for so long, he had already thought they disappeared. More than thought, hoped, prayed. Looking in these clear blue eyes, the smile even if it was rarely directed at him, the enthusiasm for his work... Washington isn’t blind enough to call it love, but still, the sight of Benjamin Tallmadge always seems to make his heart beat a bit quicker. It is an attraction that is of no good to him and Washington knows it and his heart will come to terms with that fact one day, at least that is what he hopes. After all, he knows the boy for less than a week and has barely spoken with him, most conversations being more like a monologue with Ben politely smiling or trying to escape. The boy is pretty and it is simply a rare occasion for Washington, who never set foot in that scene, to actually know that he could win him, that is all. 

“Nice speech.” There is no Pa on Alex lips like normally and Washington nearly regrets his harsh words, needed as they might have been. 

He gives the brat a small smile as a peace offer. God, when did he become so soft? “Thank you, Alex.” He can only tell him to go and entertain the kids so this whole thing won’t become a disaster wrapped in haute couturier and stabbed in the heart by too many high heels, before some starlet wants to take a photo with him for her tweeter account and a reporter overwhelms him with questions, half of them already answered in his speech.

He has to excuse himself from all of this to talk to the man who he actually wants to meet. The one they were here for. “Lawrence.”

The man is all wrinkles and grey hair, but his hand shake is still warm and strong. The smile he gives Washington let the years melt away. “I wanted to thank you, George.”

These honest words leave Washington horribly embarrassed. “Don’t! Because of me, you have a bunch of heartless showoffs here. I wish there would have been a way to handle this in less pompous way.”

“You still gave the kids this center." Lawrence points out. Always rooted on the bright side of things, after all he has seen. Washington nearly envies him this talent. 

The praise has Washington shrugging. “It is the first thing I ever bought. The ground it stands on, I mean. It was either me or that company who would bring the house down and I still liked the place I grew up at.”

Lawrence roars with laughter and claps the other man on the arm, eyes twinkling with good humor. “You will be a wonderful president, George.”

That has Washington chuckling. “You can start a club with Alex on this one. The brat keeps saying the same thing whenever he opens his mouth. Now, I think I’ll need a whiskey if I have to survive more of New York’s finest, maybe better two. Can I temp you to a glass of original Scottish whiskey, fifty years old? My own stock.”

 

Ben is more than happy when he sees the first other normal person entering the youth center. The man looks like he just left a gym, all up in sport cloths and with a large bag in his hands- a more than pleasant sight in all this glamour. The man grins at Ben from under a mob of frizzly black hair and it only takes a few minutes for them to figure out they are on the same page concerning the whole party and a lot more.

Jordan, as Ben finds out, is a sport's teacher and is on committee of a large sports club in the city. A sports club Washington’s company sponsors.

“Wait, you are also a teacher?” As Ben confirms it, he is met by a hard clap to his back. “Yo, man, best job ever, I’d say, right? Still, quite the coincidence. Does the big man want to start his own school here?”

Jordan grins about his own joke, but Ben can only hike his shoulders up, a bit taken aback by the lack of respect Jordan is showing towards Washington. Is the man only that intimidating around him? But Ben soon finds out that Jordan is like that to everybody- exept the kids. But even if he isn’t the politest person in the world, he sure has a thing for kids and sports. Ben is still surrounded by the little ones, coloring mandalas, themselves and once in while Ben’s cheeks or arms, while Jordan is in the sport area, teaching the boys some boxing tricks.

“Hey, Tallmadge." He calls over the heads of the pretty folks like they wouldn’t exist. “Do you also box?”

Ben tries to entangle himself from a lovely Hispanic girl that declared him her Prince Charming and future husband, but it is of no use. In the end he simply picks her up and carries her over to the sport area, receiving more than a few glances on the way. Why was it always something special if a man could handle a child? Most of them would end up with one to call their own after all and being a father would mean exactly that: Carrying a girl around while she is playing with your hair and telling you that you are her unicorn.

“Brought your own cheerleader, I see. Always that reliable with the ladies, Tallmadge?”

Ben simply smiles and convinces his little bride to be to stand on her own feet for a while. “Sorry, Jordan, I don’t box, always been to lanky for that. I could do karate though- or fencing if you have a weapon with you.”

These words get the boys around them more than a little exited. Ben can even teach them a bit about the weapon and musketeers, the most interesting topic he can think of concerning the sport, the kids hanging on his every word. Hamilton, who suddenly is standing behind him again, a habit Ben begins to detest, even makes the suggestion of getting a Musketeer movie for a theatre night with popcorn and a bit of Ben’s history lessons. The suggestion has Ben almost warming up a bit to the man again- not trusting him though, but everything has to start somewhere, right?

Ben doesn’t know how Jordan manages, but only half an hour later they have the full fencing gear of his club brought over and the kids are more than happy to get a few lessons from them, even if their fencing reminds Ben more of sword fights in Lord of the Rings than anything an épeé is made for. On the other hand, who cares if the kids grin like mad and his little future wife even names him her knight, something she sure has heard somewhere on television and Ben takes the honor with a little bit of real pride and a kiss to her hand. Plus, Washington would be able to replace the broken electronic afterwards anyway, so no real harm done. 

The fencing has the high society draw closer to the actual reason of this party at last, probably because the sport can be considered not too much beneath their status, while the boxing and coloring of the kids wasn’t worth much more time than it took to take a selfie. Next day, Ben is sure the social medias will be floated with pictures from this evening. Ben despises the people more with every second, not caring if some of them might actually be nice, but for the kid's sake he stays.

Jordan is still teaching a few boys how to block an attack and properly stand, when Ben excuses himself for a minute. He really needs a break and a drink, because his throat is as dry as the Gobi Desert. Jordan looks up from an all wrong Sixt, he is currently correcting, and cat-calls at Ben, to bring along a beer for him.

Unfortunately, Ben never makes it to the bar. He is halfway through the room, when a heavy hand falls on his shoulder and squeezes the muscles there to the point of bruising. Ben tries to whirl around, hand already raised and ready to demand an explanation when the paw on his shoulder pulls him against a solid chest and travels lower, while a voice near his ear makes his worst nightmares come true.

“Let’s go somewhere private, my dear boy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Funny trivias for you: The book Ben is reading, the Latin textbook, is a real Latin textbook (even though I doubt it ever made its way into the USA), but the stories about Quintus and Flavia are quiet sweet. ;)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Washington to the rescue...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok... This chapter is going to be dark and violent (but not very graphic), so if you are easily triggered, you better skip it. 
> 
> For the rest: enjoy and tell me, how you liked it

“How can you defend this new tax system they want to rush through Congress? You yourself are rich, but others aren’t. They can’t just pay more taxes and possibly never profit from that system. You would really have them soaked, just that funds for the economy in other states can be established.”

Yes, and the economy crisis should have shown the man how important that idea is, if only to save a few jobs! He however restrains himself from speaking this aloud. 

“I am sorry that we don’t agree on this, but then again, that is what makes politics democratic, doesn’t it?” Washington is sure his smile will fall any minute, but he continues his conversation with the current Mayor nevertheless, trying desperately to stay polite, no matter the provocation.

The Mayor however goes on and on, trying more than obviously to get a reaction that would embarrass his opponent in the upcoming election, but Washington has an ace up his sleeve: He is used to dealing with this kind of subtle taunting. Business and politics aren’t that different.

“George!” His head snaps up at this exclamation, searching the room for Alex. He would recognize that voice anywhere.

“Ah, your son?” The tone of the mayor’s wife is charming, a typical small talk tone- only it isn’t. Dangerous ground, Washington reminds himself. 

He goes for a smooth reply, that gives nothing away, nothing they don’t already know. “We never really discussed this between us, but I think protégé is more fitting, given the age difference.”

That elicits a deep sigh from the mayor’s wife. “How you can stand this loneliness I cannot understand! No children, no loving wife, who shoulders the burdens with you?”

Did his media mediator break into their house and steal a note with the questions they wanted to throw at him or should he give the man a higher paycheck for his genius and a psychic? There hadn’t been a single one so far that they hadn’t discussed and rehearsed. “If I would already be so overwhelmed with my current tasks, I probably shouldn’t take on more. And as to your suggestion, madam, I would think it rather unromantic to marry a lovely lady because I can’t pay a secretary.”

Both the mayor and his wife are gaping at him like a fish. Washington can only hope that this will become a permanent state.

“George!” There is an urgent edge to Alex voice, that has Washington abandoning his little match with the two and all but storming to his protégé who struggles to reach him in the crowded room, but under Washington’s gaze, the people simply back away.

When he reaches Alex the younger man all but grabs him by the shoulder and drags him out of the room and in the entrance hall where a few kids are playing a ball game, not saying a word until they are out of people’s earshot.

If he wouldn’t have been anxious yet, the look in Alex’s eyes has made him now. He grabs the younger man on the shoulders to stop him from fidgeting. “What happened?”

His protégé makes a face. “Arnold.”

“What?”

Alex nods heavily. “He’s here." He says before Washington can ask any further.

At that, the older man shakes his head in disbelief. “That can’t be! He…”

“I saw him, George!” Alex cuts in. “And I’m pretty certain I can tell him apart.”

Washington rubs a hand over his mouth, shoulders tense with anger and apprehension, his mind already working through multiple scenarios. What does the bastard want? What does he want here? He drops his hand, letting go a deep breath. “That can’t be good, last…” He stops dead and dashes back into the room, not hearing what Alex is cat-calling after him, eyes frantically searching for somebody. He simply ignores whoever tries to speak to him, no matter the offence they might take, and makes his way to the sports area, where only one teacher is playing with the kids right now. Dread is settling in his stomach like ice water. “Mr. Torres!”

Jordan looks up and lifts an eyebrow. “The big man himself." he mutters. “What can I do for you?”

“Have you seen Mr. Tallmadge?”

Anger clearly shows on Jordan’s face at the mention of Ben. “Went for a drink, never came back.”

“When?”

The sport teacher shrugs. “I don’t know, about ten minutes ago, maybe fifteen.”

The thank you he calls over his shoulder has nearly the whole room to cross for he speeds back to Alex as soon as Jordan has finished. Fifteen minutes. If Arnold got Tallmadge fifteen minutes ago, where were they now? 

He runs a hand through his hair, cursing. He should never have dragged the boy into this. He couldn’t even call the boy and check if he had simply left. But with Arnold here, that would be a pretty lucky coincidence, Ben leaving before Arnold ever saw him? He doesn’t believe it himself.

Alex comes his way as soon as he sees him again. “Pa?”

Now it is Washington dragging the boy outside, a sudden thought flashing through him. Alex opens his mouth to ask what the hell possessed him, but Washington cuts him off, “Tell me you didn’t invite Arnold!”

“What?” Alex stares at him as if he has lost his mind. “I just told you, that I saw him. Why would I do this if I invited him?”

But Washington doesn’t back down, his eyes literally burning themselves into Alex’s. “You tracked the boy down to get him to talk more easily. Tell me, this isn’t another clever idea! Tell me you didn’t set him up.”

The indignation he sees in Alex’s eyes upon hearing these words is honest. “No! I would never do that. Do you think I’m crazy?”

“I think you care more about catching Arnold than about Tallmadge.”

“Yeah!” Alex shoots back, “but that doesn’t make me heartless. I saw the pictures or have you forgotten that? I saw all of them!”

Washington lets go of him and claps his shoulder apologetic but Alex knows him better than to be done with it just yet. “What happened?”

The words sound like a death sentence to him. “Benjamin Tallmadge is missing.”

“Shit!”

A heavy nod. “You search upstairs, I take the cellar. If he is still here, we find him.”

Washington is already halfway to the stairs, when Alex catches his arm. “And if not?”

But the older man just breaks away from Alex, not ready to think about that now. He invited the boy here, he dragged him back into the mess, just so he could get his own satisfaction and he had told all of New York where he would be tonight.

Arnold was here because of him and Washington had been stupid enough to hand him Ben on a silver platter after the boy fled over an ocean just to be safe again. Luckily, Alex takes the hint and storms upstairs to search the bureaus there while Washington himself runs down the stairs to the basement, begging that the boy wouldn’t have to suffer because of his mistake. In all his worry and shame, Washington doesn’t even register that the feelings might be a bit misplaced at an employee of one of his projects, he doesn’t even really know yet.

 

“Let me go!” The words make it out of his mouth far too late, far too quiet. He should scream for help, no matter the embarrassment, but his throat is constricted like the hand in his neck is choking him, not just pushing him forwards to a destination only Arnold knows, only Arnold sees. Ben only sees tears. He braces his feet against the ground, not willing to move one step further, but Arnold's chest collides with his back and has him topple over.

“Easy, Benjamin", he purs, "we don’t want you to get hurt, do we?”

Maybe it is his name, a name only Arnold used because Ben was too childish for his taste, maybe it is his voice, but the simple sentence has him trembling and he feels himself shaking his head, lowering it in defeat.

“Now, that is my boy." Arnold breaths into his ear and Ben tastes bile.

“Please," he forces out, so soft, so pathetically soft. Why can’t he just scream at him, beat him like he has beaten Ben so many times? But he knows why. He had hit back once- only once.

Arnold presses Ben against the wall, crushing him between stone and his chest. He is so close, too close. There are tears on his cheeks, but Ben can’t move an arm to brush them away. All he can do is turn his face away, as Arnolds lips fall onto his. They brush his chin instead and he lets out a strangled sob. “Benedict, please.”

Arnold's fingers pet his collarbone and move up to his throat. Ben has never felt so fragile and he hates it, he hates it so much. Suddenly his face is yanked around. “You don’t wear my necklace anymore.”

Ben squirms, bracing himself for the pain. But the pain doesn’t come, something else does though. He yelps when he feels Arnolds teeth scratching his skin. “Let’s give you something to remember to whom you belong, what do you think?”

He would take a split lip over a hickey anytime- but he isn’t asked. Distracted by Arnold's mouth on his neck, he only now realizes that one hand has made it under his polo shirt, stroking his skin. No, no! His hands come up to push Arnold away, but he can’t, he just can’t. The man doesn’t move and Ben feels panic raising in him. The hand ventures lower and he is pressed against Arnold once more while his other hand is violently tearing the scrunchy from his braid, ripping out hairs with it.

“You know I don’t like it when you tie up your hair and I don’t like you in this dark blue, either. Why do you defy me, Benjamin? I want the world to see just how pretty you are, that is all. Such a pretty boy and all mine.”

It is a teary kiss Arnold pulls Ben into but he doesn’t care. He also doesn’t care that the younger man is pressing his lips together, the only form of resistance he has left. A quick squeeze to his ass sees that problem solved and Arnold once again gets what he wants, no matter the pained gasp. 

“Did you really think I would simply let you walk out on me like this?” He whispers against Ben’s lips, as he nips at the soft flesh. “You mean the world to me after all. Can’t you see how much I missed you?” He presses Ben even closer, causing the younger man to wince and become even stiffer as something other than Arnold's hands digs into him.   
“Yes, my darling boy, you can most certainly feel how much I missed you!”

Ben makes one last attempt to push Arnold away from him and make a run for the stairs, but there is no getting away. There has never been one. It only has Arnold laughing. “Now, why aren’t you a good boy and show me just how much you missed me in return?”

“I think he already does that, you damn creep.”

 

Washington runs down the stairs and into the right corridor. He swears the many doors in it.

Despite the hurry, he tries to lighten his steps. What would Arnold do with the boy, if he would hear somebody approach? He obviously doesn’t love him enough not to harm him, but how far would he go? Washington curses under his breath. He thought that kind of crazy was only to be found in the movies Alex would drag him to, but apparently the reality is even more mad than Hollywood could ever dream of.

He reaches the last door and curses. The wrong corridor! He runs back and around a corner, the music from above getting louder. He must be under the dance floor now. Would somebody have heard Ben scream? An ajar door has him push the thought away while he sprints to it. Please be there and please be alright.

Washington bursts through the door to a sight that has him nearly see his breakfast again. The dim light can’t hide the unseeing, terrified look in Tallmadge’s eyes or the tremors that run through him while Arnold gropes at him like some animal in season.

“Now, why aren’t you a good boy and show me just how much you missed me?”

He rushes forwards, grabbing the man by his shoulder and yanking him away from the boy. “I think he already does that, you damn creep.”

Arnold whirls around, but whatever he had to say was silenced by Washington’s fist, that connected with his head.

Arnold blinks startled and rubs his cheek. “George!”

That is the last straw that breaks the camel’s back. Washington’s voice is like a thunderstorm that breaks down upon Arnold. "Don’t you dare call me that. You lost that right long ago! And even if we would still be friends, this would end it. This would end everything.”

Arnold has never been one to back down easily and his temper is an easy match for Washington’s. A smirk appears on his face. “You have no proof!”

“Time will tell. And now leave, before I won't need any to never see your face again!”

Arnold sets his jaw. “Fine, but I will take with me what is mine.” And with that he clutches at the boy, who presses himself even further into the wall.

Another well placed strike has Arnold tripping backwards. “I don’t think so.”

Arnold stares at Washington in shock, rubbing his chin.

Washington is panting. “What? Not used to somebody hitting back? You are a poltroon, Arnold. Get out of my sight before I lose my temper completely and I give you a friendly advice: Never come back!”

Arnold comes a step closer. “You can’t take away what is rightfully mine.”

“Leave!”

And leaving he does, not daring to challenge Washington further, at least not now when hurried steps are audible from the stairs.

As soon as he is out of the room, Washington dashes over to Tallmadge, who collapsed against the wall, knees tucked up and face buried between his arms. Even from where Washington stood, he could hear the far too quick panting of the boy. He crouches down next to him. “Benjamin.”

But that has the boy even more panicked. Washington thinks back to the job application and gives it a try. Things couldn’t go any worse, could they? “Ben?”

The nickname hasn’t the boy flinching and Washington takes it as a good sign. Ben it is then! 

Tentatively, he reaches out for the back of the young man. “Easy, Ben, breath. Breath!”

As soon as he touches the boy though, Ben jerks up and tries to get away from him, while his hands come up to shield his face from a blow that Arnold would deal him now, if he were still here. “No… No, please! Get off … of me! Get off me… please", he blubbers out.

The words send a chill down Washington’s spine. Arnold didn’t, did he? What he saw mere minutes ago had been bad, but did he really… He looks at the heartbreaking picture in front of him. Damn it, that bastard! How could he?

He takes his hand away, guilt heavy on his shoulders. “Ben?”

The younger man is staring at Washington and yet not seeing him, not really. The blue eyes are red-rimmed and the pupils blown wide with fear, while his mouth is desperately trying to take ever-growing gulps of breath. Arnold has pushed him in a full panic attack! Washington would like nothing more right now than to go after him and strong-arm the vermin, but he stays for the boy’s sake.

Suddenly Alex is in the door, his appearance making Ben whimper “Pa?” And then, faintly, “Oh my god!”

Washington is momentarily distracted by Alex’s appearance and words and sees the sign barely in time to reach out for the boy, stopping Tallmadge as gently as he can from touching a high voltage kit. 

He might have been gentle and he didn’t press the boy against him to shield him from further harm as instinct tells him to, but his actions still have the boy hammering his fists against Washington’s chest in sheer terror. 

There isn’t much force behind the strokes, something that has Washington even more worried. He looks closer at Ben’s hand, which are clenched in an odd posture he vaguely remembers from a first aid class. “Alex, get me a plastic bag. Now!”

The youth bombs upstairs and comes back only seconds later with a plastic bag in his hands. He hands it over with a doubtful look at Tallmadge. “I don’t think he will like that.”

Well that makes two of them, but what else could he do? The only good thing is that the bag is transparent and wide. Nevertheless, Ben’s eyes go wide with even more panic as they pull it over his head. Washington holds him the whole time, stops him from bolting, from hurting himself or them, whispering gentle nothingness and lightly rubbing his back, always ready to hold him tighter if necessary. 

Only when he feels Ben’s breathing calming down he lets go, his own breath he wasn’t aware he was holding. “Alex, maybe you should wait outside.”

That his protégé obeys without a word is a testimony to their situation.

When the first tears fall onto his shirt and skin, Washington knows they are through the worst. Not over the hill, far from it, but at least they can talk with Ben now, really help him.  
Without thinking, he opens his arms wider, allowing the trembling boy to fall against him. “He is gone, Ben, and he won’t return! I got you, it is alright, Ben, I got you.”

As he rubs his back, he feels the heaves the boy is battling against under his hands and turns him around, not hasty, no matter if that will cost him a pair of good shoes, but slowly, so he won’t startle the boy. Gently, Washington reaches for Ben’s loosened hair, holding the strains out of his face. “It is alright, Ben. Let it out. All out!”

He can see that Ben’s hands shake even more now and when Washington lightly touches his chin to get him to look at him, has the touch Ben cower before him. He really should have gone after Arnold!

Washington cups his cheek genltly, because he has seen the death grip Arnold had the boy in and he doesn’t want to provoke another panic attack. “Please, Ben, look at me.”

As the blue orbs meet his brown ones, the boy seems to realize for the first time who is actually holding him. “Sir!” He utters in pure horror.

But before he can back away and let his fears regarding Washington’s status and his embarrassment frighten him even more, the older man pulls Ben to him, feather light, lacking the force Arnold had used, but still giving a clear statement. “None of this, Ben, and George will do.”

A sob escapes the boy, as fearful eyes study Washington’s face. “Why are you here?” It was only a whisper.

“I was worried and went looking for you when I was told someone ran into Arnold.”

Now the sob is more violent and once out, more are following. The boy is suddenly crumbling in front of him and Washington does the only thing he can think of: He pulls the boy near again and holds him, rubbing soft circles over his back.

“I’m… I… Sir…”

“Shhh.”

Ben pulls away, furiously rubbing over his cheeks, but the tears keep coming. He doesn’t meet Washington’s eyes when he finally finds his voice again. “Your party… I…”

“Damn the party.”

He sniffles. “But…”

“It is alright, Ben.”

The boy nods, but the gesture has more desperation and panic in it than it should ever hold, especially when he really understood the other man.

He cups the boy’s cheek again and dares to brush away a few tears. “Ben.”

But the boy is still shaking his head, not really hearing him. Another panic attack? Then he hears steps on the stairs and they are not Alex’s. It is the clattering of children, an innocent sound, even more to a teacher, but Ben’s breath speeds up anyhow.

It is that sight, that spurs him into action. His other hand comes up as well, gently urging the boy to focus on him. They can’t stay here forever! “Ben, is there a friend I can call?”

The words have the boy nearly choking and Washington hushes him yet again, patiently waiting until Ben can stammer one word. “Caleb.”

A small, proud smile appears on Washington’s face. “Good. You did good.”

But the praise has Ben crying yet again. Was it something Arnold would have said? “I’m sorry, Ben, I didn’t want to frighten you.”

The boy manages a nod, while Washington fishes behind Tallmadge’s back for his cell and types a message for Alex so that he wouldn’t need to call out and terrify the boy even more. “Find a Caleb in New York, a friend of Ben’s.”

Ben is still crying, knees tucked up against his chest again, hugging himself. Five minutes later, Alex scurried in the room and over to Washington, making sure not to startle the boy with too much or too less noise. “He doesn’t answer his phone right now. He…”

Washington looks up at Alex, the question why he suddenly stopped already on his lips, but then he sees the person in the door as well. It is only one of his assistants, but it could have been anybody- and it soon will be, because the man is insensible enough to shout from the door up to the entrance, that he has found Washington in the cellar with a boy. The word has Ben wincing.

Washington reacts in the only way he sees. He mildly cups Ben’s elbows and hoist him up with himself, steadying him. “Try to reach that Caleb as often as it takes. Can I leave you the mess to clean up, Alex?”

The question doesn’t even get an answer. “To where shall I send him?”

Washington studied Ben’s tearstained face. The name had been a battle already. An address might be too much, especially when home might be the only place he feels safe. Giving that up will be difficult. But where else should they go? An obvious choice would be Washington’s apartment, for they would have all the privacy and luxury that one could wish for, but he isn’t sure how well Ben will react to that. With Arnold so fresh on his mind, the boy might think his intentions just the same. 

No, he decides, there is no need to scare him more. “The office," he finally states, hoping this would be acceptable.

“Don’t worry, pa, I’ll deal with rest. Get him out of here.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rescue and some new found trust between the two...

Washington isn’t sure how he managed to get Ben out of the room, up the stairs and outside the youth center without killing anyone, but he managed- barely.

The boy is like a puppet in his arms, stumbling next to him, unable to do much more than duck his head and mumble an apology whenever Washington has to catch him. Ben state has him worried, but right now, there is nothing else to be done about it than to bring him away from that room and the onlookers. 

As they make their way to the entrance, Washington’s dark gaze has most of the people backing off, but not all of them own at least that much tactfulness and he can only hope that the shock Ben has gone into will prevent him from hearing the whispered comments. His reputation will be saved by Alex with a story that should win the brat an Oscar, but Ben doesn’t need another blow tonight. 

When Washington blinks into the first flash of some reporter, he can only scarcely stop himself from jumping at him. Instead, he tries as gently as he can to turn the boy's head and hide Ben's face against his chest, while he hurries on. Washington sighs. Alex will have a long night if he must clean up after reporters as well. Thank the Lord for that brat.

After they are finally outside on the street, Washington walks by the long line of company cars without so much as looking at them. The thought of driving himself is insane, so much he knows for certain because with the state Ben is in, anything could happen and he would rather not explain to this Caleb why his friend suddenly bolted out of a driving car. So, in the end, he simply waves them a cab and carefully sits the boy into it, like he would do with a little child, before he himself takes a seat.

“Quite the party, right?” the cabby states, giving Washington a wink before his eyes shift over to Ben. “Nice catch though. Eager to get home, aye?”

Washington glares at the man, silently debating if they should exit and take another cab, but his death glare is enough to let the mood of the driver quickly go sour and him quiet. Now, the cabby studies the colorful rosary instead that hangs under the rear view mirror with an intensity as if his life would depend on it, waiting for Washington to give him an address and as soon as Washington does so, the man takes off. Still, Washington catches him studying them in the mirror instead of the traffic more often than he is comfortable with. Another high tip needed to cover this one up, he thinks dryly. Maybe he should simply hire driver. It couldn’t cost more.

As they drive back into the city, Washington looks over to Ben, who is huddled against the door and he is sure he can see new tears on the boy’s cheeks. A deep sigh escapes him. He really is the last person the boy needs right now, so his friend better hurry to answer his bloody phone. Washington tries to make his voice sound softer than it usually is, less commanding. “Ben?”

It is more for duty than anything else that has the boy turn around, so much as Washington can tell. After all, he is the new to be Mayor and the Maecenas of the museum the boy works in. What a natural position to expect comfort from, Washington thinks sarcastically.

Ben tries to compose himself in front of his superior but fails miserably. “Sir?” he chokes out.

This is not what Washington wanted to hear but he will settle with it for now, if only to keep the boy speaking. Silence hasn’t worked in his favor so far, that much Washington can tell from the haunted look in his eyes and therefore he searches for a topic, one that will distract Ben enough not to fall back into the catatonic state he has been in since they took off. The problem is, Washington knows only one subject that can make the boy smile and it is not really a normal small talk topic. “Tell me, why did you study Latin of all languages?”

The boy stares at him for a moment, unable to understand why of all the things Washington could demand an answer about, he asks this, but when he opens his mouth in the end, his voice is less broken, no matter the tears, that are still on his cheeks. “I grew up in a small town with only a minimum to do. A lot of the boys went for brawls in the vacations, but I liked reading more. I found an old book in the library: The Aeneid. I loved it, all of it. The battles, the mythology, the ideology. I went to Yale to study history and accidentally ran into a Latin professor. We talked." Ben shrugs, “I enrolled myself in the class the same day.”

A bit of light returned to Ben’s eyes as he spoke of his past in Yale and of that book, a light Washington wants desperately to keep alive. It’s for the boy’s sake, he tells himself, but he isn’t half as altruistic as he wants to make himself believe, that is for sure. He suppresses a sigh because, Lord, Ben’s smile really gets to him.

Slowly, tentatively, Washington’s hand comes down and pulls the boy a bit nearer, like a friend would, keeping a safe distance between them. When Ben doesn’t go stiff or flinches away, Washington silently asks, “Tell me about Yale.”

And Ben does. He might still be crying and freezing from time to time, whenever he brushes a sensitive subject or lets his mind wonder to long, but he talks. He talks about clases and long evenings with friends and Netflix, board games and pizza, about books he read and runs with his roommate. It sounds nice. 

Washington doesn’t know if a doctor would have his head for what he is doing, but the thought of driving Ben to a clinic where they would give him some pills to calm him down and be done with it, doesn’t sit right with him. Instead, he tries to keep him talking about the happy times, urging him to continue whenever the boy gets uncertain again if someone like Washington really wants to hear about this. Ben even manages a full smile when he tells Washington about the surprise party Caleb had planned for his graduation, after he had lost touch with his family. But suddenly, his smile breaks and Washington is sure it isn’t due to Arnold this time. Ben only gave him one name to call, nothing more, not even when they couldn’t get a hold of him. This Caleb seems all he has left. Washington dares to reach out for Ben’s hand and give it a squeeze.

Finally, after Washington knows more about Aeneas, Fatum (a thing he just can’t understand, no matter how often Ben’s quiet voice tries to explain it to him) and the founding of Rome than he ever thought possible, they reach his office. He doesn’t count the money he gives the cabby, just happy to get out of the car, even if it means stepping into a steady rain that had started to pour down on New York when they had been on a level with the zoo.

As soon as Ben looks up the glass tower though, he breaks into cold sweat. His breath is speeding up again and when Washington reaches out for him, he backs away, the horror from earlier clear in his eyes. “No!”

The rain is getting worse, soaking through their clothes and running down their faces like tears. Washington curses himself for leaving their coats at the charity party, but what else could he have done? After all, his priority was to get the boy out of there. They really should go inside, if they don’t want to catch a cold or something worse. Hence, Washington makes an attempt to calm Ben down, voice low and soothing “Ben, please! Please, come inside.”

But Ben doesn’t calm down. He doesn’t hear Washington’s explanation, doesn’t hear him swearing he would never harm him, doesn’t even hear him begging to come away from the street he is getting dangerously close to. It might be Friday night, but the Big Apple never sleeps, not even in a banking district- nor do the streets of the city.

Washington thinks back to the high voltage kit in the basement and how close Ben had come to accidentally killing himself already. Would it be a car then? Has Arnold pushed the boy finally far enough, that he would prefer a quick death rather than another attack? Washington begs silently, that it isn’t as bad as this yet. He really should have beaten the bastard into a bloody pulp. 

Is the boy even seeing him, he wonders all the sudden, or has the very idea of Washington inflicting the same trauma again triggered a flashback? Washington doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what to do, how to help the boy. Maybe, he really should have directed the driver to a hospital after all. The light in Ben’s eyes is gone, in lieu there are new tears on his face- a lot of tears. “Ben, please.”

The wobbly legs of the boy bump into a car and have the car alarm crying out in no time. It is a nasty clamor, threatening to rip Washington’s tympanums apart, but leastwise it has Ben coming back to reality. He blinks up, eyes puffy with tears, and manages a whisper, nearly swallowed by the noise, that breaks Washington’s heart like nothing ever could. “Please don’t hurt me.”

“I won’t. It is my office, Ben, nothing else. There might even be a secretary or one of my stock expert in there, so you do not have to be alone with me. I just didn’t want you to stay between all these people at the party. Alex will reach Caleb in no time and then you can go home. You are safe.” He holds his hand out and waits for the boy to approach him, to give up the distance he has put between them as a safety measure. He waits long, soaked to the bone. He doesn’t move, doesn’t complain, just waits.

After what seems like hours, Ben hesitantly does come closer and they are already halfway to Washington’s office, when Ben finally says something again. “Why?”

His words are more directed to the floor of the elevator than to the man next to him. He has yet to look him in the eyes again.

Washington pinches the bridge of his nose and wonders just how much damage one must suffer, to question a helping hand, to be so surprised by one. He watches the boy, whose eyes are still glued to the floor, as if he tries to learn the little puddles they both leave on it by heart. In retrospective, Washington is a bit perplexed that he just followed him into the tiny cage. To be fair, it isn’t really tiny, but with two people in it, there is only so much distance you can put between you and a potential threat and to be honest, he is exactly that to the boy.

Washington eyes the digital display that shows the floors, slowly heading up to the top. He takes a step back, his back butting against the cage wall, only to make Ben a bit more comfortable. 

The closeness that had Ben calmed in the car now seems to suffocate the boy and he studies Ben’s face, as he quietly states, “I was able to help you and you needed the help.”

A violent headshake, more tears. “And what do you want? What’s in it for you?”

Arnold! But he can’t force the word from his tongue, no matter how true, no matter how perfect the moment. Alex was right: He wouldn’t need to do this for a bit of information. His vendetta can wait, he deciedes and he swears he will not drag Ben Tallmadge into it again. “Is it so difficult to accept an act of kindness?”

Ben gives a laugh, hysterical without any humor in it. “I’m not that naïve anymore, sir! I have seen too much of the world for that. If you want something, please, I beg of you just stop playing games and be done with it.” He sounds tired, horribly tired and not only due to a horribly long day, even if he really had one.

Tired of life, the expression never meant anything to Washington, just a synonym for suicidal in a crossword puzzle, but now, he sees it for the first time as something else, as an exhaustion caused by too much of everything. Too much turmoil, too much heartache, too much dark memories. He sees it in the eyes of a twenty-seven-year-old and it makes him sad. More than sad, sick even. “I’m not playing games with you, Ben.”

The boy wipes away the tears and shakes his head, hands clenched into fists. “There is no such thing as simple kindness. You want something. Go on, just spill it out!” His voice is only a whisper when he continues, “I’m in no position to refuse.”

He will never tell Ben about Arnold, he vows to himself. He will not let the boy live with this belief. Not even Alex had been that mistrustful when he had brought him into the States and the brat only knew the hard life in the slums of Mexico City. Arnold did more than beat Ben, Washington suddenly realizes with a sickening feeling, he broke something in him and Washington can only wonder if it will ever be whole again.

The doors of the cage open to the brilliant view of New York by night, but Washington doesn’t grant it much more then a short look. “Will you come with me? Please.”

Ben swallows, his shoulders stiff with apprehension as he steps out of the lift. His eyes briefly flicker to Washington, but he is quick to look away again.

He doesn’t ask where they are.

He doesn’t ask what Washington wants here with him.

He follows him like a convict to the executioner’s block. Please let it be over soon.

“Sir, what on earth are you doing here at this hour? And who is this?”

Ben looks up to find a woman looking at him, salt and pepper hair braided into a pony tail. He isn’t sure if he is happy about her being here or if he would rather have the office deserted. Would a woman’s presence stop Washington from doing anything? Would it only be another witness to his shame?

Who was worse? Washington or Arnold? Fortunately enough, Washington hasn’t hit him, not yet. But who was worse?

“Good god, the boy is trembling! Did you walk here from the charity party? In this weather?”

He’d take the cold rain without another thought if only to get away from here, him.

Only slowly does Washington’s next words make their way into his head. “Mrs. Cortez, I know it is late and you are more than off duty, but could I ask you for a cup of tea?”

Tea? Well, Ben tries to cheer him up, as long as he is drinking tea, he doesn’t do anything else. Why did he leave his cell in his jacket? He has no chance of reaching Caleb, he is alone again. The thought has him digging his nails into his hand.

“I’ll fetch one right away. Any wish as to the flavor?”

“Anything without caffeine will do, I’d say. Thank you, Mrs. Cortez.”

Ben doesn’t hear her answer because Washington is already guiding him into an office, his own one, if the size means anything. Ben looks over his shoulder to the foyer, where he can see Mrs. Cortez hurrying into another direction. Alone with him…

Washington’s low rumble sends a shiver down his spine, when he speaks again, “You are soaked, Ben. Wait a minute.”

As soon as the other man disappears from his sight, Ben wants desperately to make a run for the lift, to get away from this, but he knows he can’t. Washington isn’t someone he can easily outrun. He needs the man to keep his job and he can sell him to Arnold without any problems. Who is worse?

He is at the mercy of someone once again. Ben clenches his hands into fists and tries to stop himself from crying. He is no trembling damsel in distress, he can beat this. He is stronger than this! He promises himself he won't break, he won't! 

“You’re still here." Washington observes as he comes back into the room, his shirt and jacket replaced by what looks like running gear and a cardigan. “Here. The bathroom is behind that door.” And with that, he hands Ben an old, thick sweatshirt and some sweats. “They might be a bit too long for you, but they dry. You will catch your death in these wet clothes.”

Ben can only stare at him, unable to do anything else.

Something twichs in Washington's face and his eyes soften. They hold none of their usual sharpness anymore, only things Ben can't place. Sadness maybe? But he discards the idea quickly. Why should Washington be safd? 

“Go on, take them. There is a lock on the bathroom door.”

The subtle hint is, what has Ben reaching out for the cloths. Maybe, just maybe… He allows himself a bit of naïve hope. “Thank you, sir.”

Washington only nods and gestures towards the bathroom.

Ben checks the lock three times before he feels safe enough to step away from it and let go of the handle. He catches a glimpse of his face in the mirror and stares at the tearstained face. A hysterical chuckle works itself up his throat. Looks like things are back to normal. No idea though, why creeps always are into tears and blubbering messes. He grips the washbowl for support, as he crumbles yet again.

Reluctantly, after he has no tears to shed anymore, he looks over to the cloths that fell out of his arms and then back to the still closed door. He is cold, freezing, but what will the little comfort cost him?

“Thank you, Mrs. Cortez.” Ben hears Washington’s voice through the door. “I know it is late and I have no right to ask this, but could I get you to stay a bit longer? For a free day on Monday of course.”

Ben doesn’t hear her response, but he hears Washington’s. “No, nothing in particular, just be around.”

He asked this for his sake, Ben suddenly realizes. Why else would the man ask his secretary to stick around without work for her, that needs to be done? The new certainty makes him undress and grab for one of the towels, that are laying under the washbowl. Can it be… can it really? 

He slips into the sweats and the hoody, that proudly states Harvard along with the emblem of the university. It swallows Ben’s form completely, but it is warm, like some protection. He still needs another minute or so before he can leave the safety of a locked door and face Washington again.

The man looks up as he comes back and takes Ben’s huddled form in for a moment before he nods in approval. “Your tea is getting cold.”

“M…my tea?” Ben stammers, but Washington wordlessly hands him a large cup of steaming liquor. Ben curls his fingers around it, absorbing the warmth. Only now he realizes how much he froze. “Thank you, sir.”

“Maybe the whole situation would be easier for you, if you call me George.” The twitching in Ben’s face doesn’t go unnoticed. “But if you are not comfortable with it, we shall forget about it.”

Ben sips at his tea and takes in the strong aroma of herbs and fruits. He has always loved tea. Tea was his comfort, his piece of an ideal world. A thing he has in common with his mother. 

He follows Washington instruction when the man gestures for him to sit on a big leather coach, hands clenching the cup with a bit more force, but he doesn’t voice his fears or the hopes the coach just destroyed. Maybe this is why he is so perplexed when Washington hands him a blanket- and takes a seat in a chair opposite to him.

“I trust that Alex has done his best to reach your friend, but maybe, you want to try yourself.” And he gives an even more perplex Ben his cell. “Call him.”

The phone goes to voicemail after it rang a whole minute. When Ben tries again and again, Washington doesn’t say a word, doesn’t tell him to stop acting foolish, to behave, to give him his cell back. The man just sits there and studies him with an unreadable expression. Ben meanwhile is almost begging Caleb to answer the phone. He told him he would. He told him that Ben was more important than Nepomuk and Polly. He told him, he wouldn't have to go through this alone again. He told him...

After ten minutes, he lets the cell sink and exhales. Caleb is working, he reminds himself. There can always be an emergency, a sick animal, a break out, some death by the fangs of sweet croc Nepomuck, but it doesn’t help, not now. At least, he now knows that Washington hasn’t lied to him and it sparks a bit of hope again. Hamilton really couldn’t reach Caleb. God, he really is pathetic, like some maiden in need. He holds the cell out for Washington, so at least he won’t stare at the display for the rest of eternity, hoping for a call. “Thank you, sir.”

Washington slightly shakes his head. “Keep it. It is my personal one, so only Alex will call it- or your friend when he sees all the missed calls.”

Ben still doesn’t trust him, but he cradles the cell close and buries himself in the blanket. “Thank you, sir.” 

He has said that sentence far too often already tonight, when will Washington demand a payback? 

But Washington passes over Ben’s repeated thanks like they were never voiced. “I’m afraid I can’t offer you a book for the wait. The only things here are business works and no fun to read.” He looks down at him, his brow furrowed. “Your tea, Ben.”

He doesn’t even propose sleep, something that has Ben oddly relaxed. He drinks some more tea and listens to Washington talking to Mrs. Cortez, the woman smiling at him and laughing about a joke he doesn’t catch. It looks nice, it looks normal, it looks as if Washington can do nice and normal. He stifles a yawn.

Washington smiles at the woman and thanks her for something Ben missed. When he comes back, he gently asks for the cell, quickly stating that Ben will have it back in mere seconds. As if he would need to apologize for Ben having to hand over the cell to the actual owner! Maybe Washington is simply odd, but yawning once more, Ben dares to think that he might really be nice, even when Ben is still a bit unnerved by the fact that he doesn’t understand the other man’s motivation for all this kindness.

Washington taps on the display on his phone and puts it on a little table next to the couch Ben sits on. Ben looks quizzically at him, but gets his answer soon enough, when a deep voice states the words, he has so often read as a child, “Singing I want of weapons and the man, who as the first man fled the Trojan coats and came, as his fate predicted, to Italy and the shores of Lavinia…”

The prooemium of the Aeneid. He looks up at Washington and feels tears form in his eyes. This time he means it. "Thank you!"

Washington’s corner of the mouth twitches at this sight and Ben's words. “Rest now, Mr. Tallmadge. Your friend will come soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess I should give credit to Vergil for the first lines of the audiobook Washington downloaded for Ben, because they are really out of the Aeneid, translated of course. 
> 
> As always, I love reviews and comments. :)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Washington's POV about the evening and a lot of turmoil...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, this is more like a second part to the last chapter, but because of the lengh and the other POV, I figured I'll make two chapters out of it. So, that's the reason why this one is a bit shorter.

Before they even reach Carthago Ben is fast asleep, hands clenched into the blanket and curled up on the couch like a little kitten. He nearly looks peaceful, nearly.

Washington sighs and picks up the cell phone. He lowers the volume of the audio book after debating whether to pause it or let it continue, but after seeing how much it calmed the boy…

He yanks his thoughts away from that idea. Not the boy, certainly not the boy, for that was what Arnold called him and the word made Ben sick- literally and him as well, thinking of it. It is also not Ben, but Mr. Tallmadge. They aren’t friends, they aren’t even acquaintances, he simply was the only one available to help him and that was all. After tonight, there will be nothing else than a working relationship between them and not even that.

Weariness is slowly dulling his own senses and he sinks back into his desk chair, happy he invested in a comfortable one and wishes for nothing more than to close his eyes and sleep, to forget, but he can’t. He has to greet this Caleb when he comes for Be- Mr. Tallmadge and he wants to make sure that he is safe. 

He feels like he's back in the army, when he had to have the back of a friend or comrade. He let Mr. Tallmadge down already, not again, not when he can help it! 

Ben mumbles something in his sleep and grasps the blanket tighter. Washington doesn’t need to wait for the tremors to start to know what is going on: A nightmare.

He debates shortly if it would be better to wake him, but quickly decides against it. He needs his sleep and they probably will come right back if Ben falls asleep again. So, Washington simply grabs the cell again and makes the audiobook louder like a lullaby for a child- and that is it. He doesn’t brush the hair out of his face, he doesn’t give his shoulder a squeeze, he doesn’t stay. He has no business here, he can’t have any here.

Tallmadge calms down again under the soft baritone of the reader, quietly telling him about a tragic love and a goddess with a temper that makes everyone, even Washington, look like a lamb. Washington doesn’t know if it’s the story or the simple talking that has Tallmadge relaxed but it works. He pushes the thought away, that he could simply talk to him himself. No business, none at all!

Dido loses her heart and it cannot be, Washington tries to concentrate on the tables he received about his new hotel chain. Numbers and estimations needed modifications and the letters of the hotel managers blur together. India, South Africa, Nepal, Peru… Has Ben ever been to the tropics?

He slams down the letter he just read, furious about his own line of thoughts but it doesn’t help him.

From his desk he has an excellent view of the couch. Ben Tallmadge, huddled in his very own hoody and sleeping on the couch in his office. Washington all but bolts from the room, stepping onto the balcony that abuts his office and on which he never set a foot before. The cold air hits him hard and he inhales it, trying to let it calm him, trying to forget the odd feeling of possessiveness he had when Ben came out of the bathroom in his clothes, the joy when he thanked him and for the first time meant it, the longing when he stared at the sleeping form.

His hand slams down at the glass balustrade, hard enough that he is surprised when it doesn’t shatter under the force. It’s Tallmadge, not Ben! And anyways, he shouldn’t think like this, not with what happened today. Tallmadge just got away from a bad relationship and is trying desperately right now to get order into his life again and get a grip on it. He has no right to destroy that. He has no right to assume. He has no right to play a second Arnold when all he needs is normality. God, he doesn’t even know him! A nearly hysterical part of his brains suddenly realizes, that he all but lusts after a person he doesn’t know just because of a pretty face. He isn’t a teenager anymore, he should have a better grip on himself. His very own thoughts have Washington disgusted. Yet another reason why it can never be. 

But one question tortures him more than anything else: Why does he suddenly long for something he has always known he could never have. In the room he can hear Dido flinging herself onto a sword as her love leaves her to fulfill his fate and she can't live without him anymore.

Washington rubs his temples and steps back inside to his letters and lists, purposely turning his chair away from Tallmadge’s sleeping form.

 

“Where is he?”

Washington looks up from an email he types to the man he entrusted the hotel chain to and sighs, not sure if it is relief or apprehension. At this hour, it can only be one person after all. He raises and quickly makes his way into the foyer with something like a smile on his face. “Mr. Caleb Brewster, I presume.”

He isn’t sure what he had expected from a friend of Tallmadge, but certainly not that half-tamed bear that lunges out at him, pinning him rather ungracefully against the wall. “Where is Benny?”

Washington can hardly breath under the heavy arm that crunches his airway and the fire in Brewster’s eyes tells him the man is still holding back. Oddly enough, he realizes that he likes him already. “The office, I’ll show…”

Brewster pushes his arm even harder down. “You stay here. I won't let one of you perverts come close to Bennyboy, not again.”

He isn’t about to argue about this one, but still. “He is sleeping and he desperately needs the rest. Maybe you should let…”

More pressure yet again. “He will sleep far better in his own bed- without you anywhere near him. And if I hear you even looked at him the wrong way...” 

Now Washinton really is suffucating, but only for a few heartbeats. Brewster doesn't want to kill him, just for him to get the message and that he does. Washngton manages a nod and that has Brewster letting go of him. The man gives him one last warning glare and makes his way over to Washington’s office.

Aeneas is stopped in his journey, when Caleb kicks the cell to the floor in a rather obviously unneccesary violent gesture. Everybody else would get a reprimand for this, if they would ever dare to do so, but Washington suddenly finds, he doesn’t care. It is only a cell after all. He likes the audio book though.

Caleb’s voice has lost all his harshness when he addresses his friend and it reminds Washington of the way parents talk to scared kids or a hurt animal. “Benny? Hey there, sunshine, look who is here.”

Washington would have expected Tallmadge to mumble something and go back to sleep for it is rather late and he slept soundly the last hour or so, but he snappy up, eyes wide.

Washington is nearly at the door, reacting on pure instinct, when he catches Brewster’s eyes. A death threat is nothing to what they hold and so he stays outside. It is better this way, he tries to remind himself.

Caleb cups Ben’s head and talks insistently to him, till he blinks and starts to really see his friend. It takes yet another minute until he finds his voice again. “Caleb?”

“Yeah, Bennyboy, I’m here?”

The reply is uttered in a soft, nearly broken voice, “You came for me. Thank you.”

Washington feels an odd pain upon hearing these words. It is only the sad aspect of Tallmadge not being sure of his friend’s loyalties, only he doesn’t believe it himself, not when the feeling gets worse when Caleb pulls Tallmadge into a bone crushing embrace and Ben simply melts into him.

“Of course I came! Promised, remember? I’ll always be there! Remember the fighting lessons back at school? Or me punching your father? I’ll always be there. If we would be chicks, I’d give you a friendship necklace, but you are too cool to have something like this, right? I mean I would wear it though. Friends with Bennyboy, that is something to be proud of.”

“Thanks, Caleb.”

Brewster breaks away from his friend and gives his shoulder a cheerful clap. “Now, why don’t you tell me what that jerk did with you, so I can clobber him accordingly and we can leave this godforsaken place? Hobbit probably misses you like hell.”

Washington is surprised when Tallmadge reaches for Brewster’s hand and stops him from doing anything else- like punshing Washington in the face. “He didn’t harm me, Caleb, leave him alone. Without him…”

“Yeah?”

Ben swallows and when he looks up again, Washington has the odd idea that he has made up his mind about something right now, something big. He is to be proven right. “I ran into Arnold. He is in New York.”

“Arnold?” Caleb gasps, hands coming up again, a mere reflex to protect his friend. Washington really likes him, even if Caleb would beat him into a hospital without Ben- maybe that is even the only reason for it. 

“What happened?”

Ben looks away at this. “I hyperventilated upon seeing him. Washington intervened and had Arnold removed from the party and took me to his office to calm down and avoid the questions. His second in command is currently coming up with something to smooth it up, so don’t believe whatever you will read in the papers.”

Clever boy to… Washington freezes. Has Ben just lied to his friend and withheld that Arnold had nearly… that the man had him pinned to a wall with his hands all over him? The realization has him tensing. Why?

“What did he do to you that you hyperventilated?” Seems like Caleb is a smart one.

Something jerks in Ben’s face and Washington dares another step into the room. “He called me some things I… You know.”

Another hug and this time, Ben even hugs him back. “Yeah. But he is gone now Benny and we will go home. Leave this place. It's gonna be all right, I promise.”

Washington can only flinch at the mentioning of himself alongside with Arnold. He would never...!

Ben meanwhile peels off the blanket and is halfway to the door, when Caleb stops him. “You are a Yale kid, Benny, no way you have a Harvard hoodie.” He turns around to Washington, eyes sparking and not with joy. “Care to explain?”

“He got into a shower and I offered him a dry set of clothes. His own must still be in the bathroom. I…”

“I’ll get them!” Caleb cuts him off.

“Thank you.”

The soft words have Washington looking up, even though he expects them to be directed towards Brewster but Ben is looking at him, a shy smile on his face. “You… you did a lot for me and I was an ass. I just... I guess you know the reason, but still... Thank you! Especially for I really ruined your party.”

That smile! Washington clears his throat. “You had every right to behave like you did. No offense taken and forget the party. It was only some event, not important!" You are more important! But he doesn't voice this sentence. He never will! Instead he simply states, "I’m just glad you are in good hands now.”

Ben looks back at the couch and the cell on the floor, now silent. “I think I’ve been for some hours.”

Before Washington can think of an appropriate reply to this, Caleb returns with Ben’s still wet clothes and puts his arm around him. “Let’s go home, Bennyboy.”

Washington follows them with his gaze as they leave his office and some minutes later, he can make out two tiny figures at the pavement, getting into a cab. What Washington doesn’t see though, is the colorful rosary that hangs under the driving mirror.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your most hated character and a web to get tangled in...

The donut his girlfriend had packed him as a joke sat in front of Detective André and looks just as untasteful as the ones in the TV series that Peggy always binged watched.

Maybe, he ponders, she has a bit too much fun with him being a cop and her loving nothing more than CSI, Criminal Minds and however they are called. He lost track of their names and Peggy doesn’t really mind them anyways, as long as the body count is right. Probably some late-twenty-rebellion against being raised like a Barbie, he figure, well, a blood lust Barbie obviously.

He sighs and looks back at the donut, figuring he will just dump it on his way home or better, give it to one of the kids on the street. Lucky him for packing a sandwich! If he wouldn’t get something to eat before he can head home from the night shift in four hours, he might even eat that donut.

The sandwich is the only luck he has had so far this night. New York is supposed to have a high crime rate. It is not like he is complaining, far from it, but he still would like to have to do something else than paperwork and talk to an absent partner who is all but living in Starbucks since they are opened 24/7.

He looks down at the report he is writing and wonders why Peggy’s TV programs always ends before the protagonist can do his or her paperwork. After all, it is the main part of this job and so much fun! The audience really should get a taste of it.

There seem to be even forms to fill out to get the actual forms. He suddenly thinks that maybe, he should just burn it all and start working on a new system. It could make him rich enough to impress Peggy’s father or just be a nice bonfire. Perhaps he should get marshmallows.

“Sorry, am I in the right place?”

André nearly jumps out of his chair and the first thing he can think of is that in Peggy’s movies that would be the introduction line for a serial killer- and he would never again have to worry about paperwork or anything else. He should definitely stop watching those with her. A light comedy may be in their future.

He harrumphs. “Depends, what are you look… What happened to your face?”

Andé grabs for the cell on instinct and is nearly finished typing the number of their coroner when the man speaks again. “I want to report a stolen wallet, credit card, you know.”  
Frowning, André puts the phone down again and contemplates the man for about a minute, before he finally states. "And your face? No report about an assault?”

The man sighs and lets himself fall into the chair in front of André’s desk, glutted with all the forms. He is not exactly what one would picture as a victim, all broad shoulders and muscles and tall built, but André has been a cop for too long not to have seen these cases before. They are never pretty. In fact, they are the worst because no one believes a word of it and a guy like this not hitting back mostly means he knows his attacker. Suddenly he feels more than bad for wishing for a bit of excitement. “Hey, you got that looked over?”

The other man just waves it off. “Yeah, I will. Next point on my list.”

“So," André takes out a form to fill in the report and looks up again. “didn’t catch your name.”

After a long pause, the man sighs and rubs his neck in a gesture that André has come to know as an indicator for a soon to come escape from the department. "Arnold, Benedict Arnold.”

To get him relaxed, André starts with the easy things. No need for pressure. “Are you from New York, Mr. Arnold?”

“I was, actually. Moved to London two years ago because of a job offer.”

London? Now he is impressed! He always had a thing for the island and it was the first thing that popped into his head for a marriage proposal location.

“London? Like in Britain? That is quite a distance you covered to report the stolen wallet, Mr. Arnold.”

“It was stolen in New York…” He makes a face, something obviously working inside his head. André can practically see the sear wheels working. “Look, I’m sorry to have wasted your time here, I just figured that a stolen credit card and everything needs a record to get replaced. No need to hunt for the thieve.”

That is a curious one! André is sure he hasn’t heard that kind of request before. Even the ones not hitting back usually come to the police to get somebody arrested. So, what his Mr. Arnold hiding? “You know who stole the wallet, don’t you?” He gestured meaningfully at the bruise that is starting to form at the jaw of this Arnold guy. “Got a good look on his face, I’d say."

Arnold rubs his jaw that seems to get more blueish by the minute. He didn’t come here directly, so much even André knows about medicine, but waited a few hours. Why?

“That was something else… I don’t know who stole my wallet, but I have a good idea who could have and I don’t want to add a report on his lists of problems.”

He can’t suppress the chuckle that comes forward. “His list of problems? Mr. Arnold, you are the one with the bruise and the stolen wallet, aren’t you? Now, why don’t you tell me what really happened?”

The other man runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “I actually wanted to avoid this.”

“My lips are sealed, but you have to give me something.”

Another sigh. “My boyfriend and I got into a fight again.”

“Again? That happens frequently?”

Arnold is out of his chair before André has even finished. “I should go.”

“No. I apologize, that was rude of me. Sit, please.”

The man huffs but at least falls back onto the chair. “He isn’t violent or anything, even if this may sound ridiculous right now. He is just… he is sick. Borderline or whatever the name is, I don’t know. The doctors said to me that he has these tension moments and he needs to release it somehow. Most often it ends in a bar fight that he doesn’t really start but also never avoids. Guess it is still better than cutting oneself, but it isn’t easy. Sometimes the relationship suffers and… we fought and he lunged at me before we both knew what happened. He ran afterwards, even though the whole point in meeting was to work things out.”

“Is there a record?”

“Hell, no! He isn’t violent or dangerous, only to himself. Has his father to thank for that I’d say. The men tried to beat him into the pious son he wanted. A real man of the church, you see!” He huffs. “Sometimes he even invites stories to cover everything up. Don’t know if they are true to him or just a way to…”

“Weasel himself out of trouble?”

That contributes André another stern look. Gosh, that Arnold really does love him! And suddenly, André thinks about Peggy. How would he react if she would get ill all the sudden?

Arnold’s boyfriend could very well be psychotic if he really believes in his stories, not that he’s an expert, but still... The thought of Peggy’s pretty face distorted in pain or madness makes him sick to the bone. Yeah, he gets why the man doesn’t want to fill a report. He wouldn’t want that either. “Sorry, that wasn’t really tactful.”

“I heard worse. Ben once even tried to get a restraining order against me because he was sure I would hurt him and was stalking him. I only picked him up from his studies so he wouldn’t need to take the train. He is, was a graduate student at Oxford. History. Clever kid, you see… I just… I only wanted to fill the report of the stolen wallet.” He makes a face and stands up. “Sorry for dumping my mess on you.”

“No need. I hope you find the man and that you can help him.” After a moment, André adds reluctantly, “And you are sure he stole your wallet?”

“Not absolutely sure, but pretty. I just… I had it with me before we met, I came home and it is gone. A bit of a coincidence, don’t you think?”

On that they can agree! “Why did you wait with the report?”

Arnold shrugs and looks nearly embarresed to André. “God, that’s gonna sound pathetic, but I wasn’t sure what to do. I tried to call him, but he bought himself a new cell so I couldn’t reach him. He even came back to the states and started working again, just to avoid me. As if I would ever harm him! I walked through the city, hoping that I magically would bump into him. Crazy, I know, but I just… Are you in love, sir?”

André hands Arnold a picture of Peggy and him before the Rockefeller Center at Christmas. He always has a picture of her on his desk. It reminds him why he is doing this job when he feels like it is too much or too little and tonight seems to be one of the occasion on which her smile and the messages she scribbles on every photo that was ever taken of them is the only light in the room. This one simply states: Can you imagine how blood would look on that much snow and crystals? She drew a smiley next to it and John took one look at the picture and gave her a writing guide about detective novels as a late Christmas present- just to make sure she would never put that thoughts into real actions.

Arnold studies the photo and smiles sadly. “Pretty girl. I have a ton of these photos. Ben and me in a restaurant, on vacations, on a company party…” He pully out his phone and shows André one. Ben is grinning like mad from behind Arnold's back, arms around him and some long wisps of hair in his face. “I don’t want to cause him any trouble, I just want to have him back. To help him.”

André still looks at the photo. God damn, they look so happy, so normal, just like him and Peggy. This Ben’s smile even remembers him of Peggy’s. He doesn’t want to think about the possibility that this could happen to them. “I’ll put a note to the report. Happens all the time. Sometimes kids take their parents stuff and they want to withdraw the report, sometimes it is a damn misunderstanding or a person is known to misplace things and just filled a report to be sure. Whenever the thing is found, just give me a call.”

Arnold grabs the other man’s hand and gives it a squeeze. “Thank you. That really means a lot to me.”

André cracks a smile at him and gives him his cell back. “Don’t mention it. We all have that one person we love. Just make sure the boy gets a therapist. He certainly needs on.”

“You have no idea!” Arnold is nearly out of the office, when he turns around one last time. “Hey, just a thought. Could you give me a call when it comes in to report me following him or anything? You know, just get things sorted out quickly. I’m sure some pills will be better for him than a restraining order against his boyfriend who wants to help him. I planned on asking him to marry me this winter, you know. I simply would hate to do it with a megaphone from a distance some judge decided.”

André thinks back at the photo of the two. Ben grinning and so in love that even a blind man could see it and all the things Arnold has done for him. He crossed an ocean to win him back, to help him. He knows what his answer is, even if it might me an unorthodox one. “Leave me your number, I’ll pin it on the report.”

Arnold thanks him repeatedly but André stops him with a wave of his hand. “Say no more. If it would be my Peggy, I would hope to find someone who understands me just the same. I wish you the best of luck and a positive answer for your question. By the way, any nice spots in England to do this? I wanted to take my girl there.” He smiles.

And the smile is returned. “Try the London Eye. A big wheel. The view is fantastic and I’m sure you can get a bit more time up there. I heard it is a common place to propose. I wish you a positive answer as well and health to your girl.”

André nods heavily. “You will have your boy back soon. He is fortunate to have you.”

With that, Arnold steps out of the department into the cold night and walks back to his hotel, hands buried in his pockets and thoughts already ahead. Ben… He sighs as he pictures the boy, his boy. Soon everything will be back to normal and Ben will be back in his arms, where he belongs, that slender form under him and his fingers knotted into his golden hair.

He is nearly contended with this thought, having enough pictures of the boy to fill the empty bed, when his cell suddenly buzzes in his pocket. He raises an eyebrow, for it is four in the morning right now and here he smirks, imagining familiar lips to moan his name, maybe somebody just came to his senses- or Washington wants something. After all, the man used to call him at crazy hours when he still worked for him. The things that come with a boss without a private life! He probably hasn’t abandoned that bad habit yet, if the newspaper report was even only true to some extent.

But when Arnold looks at the number, he instantly knows the call is neither from Ben nor from Washington for it has a Chinese area code in front of it. Damn it! These Chinamen couldn’t have a worse timing. He can only hope that he doesn’t have to speed things up too much, but knowing the Chinese, he might only have a week before they will start to ask questions- tops.

He takes a calming breath and tells himself he can do it. He already found the boy and without the cell to track him, that had been the most difficult part of the whole thing. Now, he simply needs to collect what is his and deliver. With a week, he could even try the nice way, he thinks and the image of his boy moaning comes to him yet again as he yanks his head back. He can still manage. Collect and deliver.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, did you believe Arnold? For a second or at least became a bit unsure? I'd love to read your comments.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A picture for you. Thanks for all the support. You are the best!!!!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The quiet before the storm...

The whole ride in the cab is a blur to Ben. He drifts in and out of sleep, never fully awake, but also never quite down. He isn’t sure if it is a dream when Caleb all but drags him up the stairs to the apartment and if he really undresses him without even one joke or if he is just missing bits and pieces of it, but the next morning Ben wakes up to an old shirt of Caleb’s dragged over his form and no pants. A pair of sweats lie next to the couch though, not the ones he got from Washington.

Ben blinks a moment in confusion before he remembers, before he realizes, why Caleb had undressed him. He isn’t surprised when he doesn’t find the hoody of Harvard anywhere in the apartment. Caleb had probably burned it, just to erase the memories. 

It is nice to have somebody who cares, it is like a safe haven, but Ben knows it’s wrong. It is wrong in so many ways! First and foremost because Washington didn’t harm him. Far from it, more like a downright lifesaver. Ben doesn’t really want to think about what would have happened if Washington didn’t come looking for him. He shudders and realizes he owes the man much more than a new hoody! God, Ben groans inwardly for Washington literally played handkerchief, psychiatrist and babysitter in one night and all for a man he doesn’t even know or care for. He really must have been a mess if Washington took that much pity on him. And then he had compared him to Arnold! 

The wrong Caleb did Washington isn’t the only thing that bothers Ben in this whole matter, he realizes, as he refills Hobbit’s water bowl and starts making coffee, trying to lose himself in the strong aroma and falling miserably.

Yesterday has shown him two things: First, he wants his life back. As stupid or as cliché as it sounds, but he doesn’t want to be the porcelain doll anymore that everyone is afraid to shatter. He wants to be the guy again that teased Caleb and took all his brawls in return and he wants to be able to talk to people again and enjoy the talking. Gosh, Ben doesn’t even know when he went to a pub the last time, got drunk. Caleb used to drag his ass into anything with liquor whenever Ben’s classes allowed it and they stayed until the very last minute before the pub closed, but now… Caleb hasn’t even suggested it and even worse, he hasn’t gone to one himself, nor to his football practice, nor Hobbit’s dog obedience school.

Ben stands in front of the calendar on the wall and looks at the weeks before he came over again. They are full of appointments and a date or two. Ben runs his hand through his hair and feels like the worst friend ever. One dinner with friends, that was all Caleb had in the last two weeks and even then, Ben had spoiled the fun.  
Hobbit presses himself into Ben, happily barking and grinning up at him like he really likes him. Walking the dog, that is all he has given Caleb back so far. No amount of tutoring Ben gave Caleb in high school can ever make up for this, he thinks.

Ben shushs Hobbit gently and takes a cup out of the shelf to pour himself some coffee.

The thing is it is not like he wants to get drunk or would be happy to meet new people, quite the contrary actually, but he… Ben runs a hand through his hair, hating the feeling of the lose streak. What does he want? He… He just doesn’t know.

Ben falls onto the couch again, mug in his hands and he stares at the photo over the TV like he wants to fall right back into it, like Narnian ways would solve his problems and yeah, they probably would at this point but no closet or lion has given him any escape so far, so why should this trick work?

It’s a nice shot. One he doesn’t even remember how they managed. He is nearly lying on Caleb, his friends arm all that keeps him standing, while Anna somehow managed to spring onto both his and Caleb’s back, her head between theirs and all of them, grinning like mad, except Abe who tries to be all serious and make bunny ears at the same time. Ben knows what he wants, he wants this.

But he can’t have it, it is a memory, nothing more. The only thing he can have is Caleb playing mother hen and Caleb giving him space and pretending the last two years where just some movie and not Ben’s fucked up life. What does he prefer? He lowers his head and stares at the mug again. 

Yesterday, he wanted to be cuddled like a little child, to be told all would be well, but when he had it… Ben sighs again. Shit! He really is a mess, another thing he doesn’t want.  
Suddenly Hobbit runs to him, leash in his mouth and all pleading eyes, so Ben puts his mug away and stands up.

"Yeah, buddy, that is a problem I can solve at least. Let's go.”

It feels good to run with Hobbit, just like work does. He feels like he can do something right, make somebody happy, like he used to do all the time. 

Two years ago, Ben loved to do all kinds of little things his friends enjoyed. Buy them a beer or coffee, cook and bring dinner over when he knew they had had a long day just to save them the junk food or cooking way after anybody should be still up, listening to heartbreak and wishing them good luck before each test in their apprenticeship.  
He had the dates written down, all of them, and he never missed one, never! He even made Abe a package for his exams with chocolate and a good luck toy and some funny rubbish he laughed about even a year later. That was past Ben, but now he can just brighten the day for Hobbit with a run. Still, when Hobbit licks his hand afterwards, Ben can't help but smile, a real smile, like he used to. It feels good- until he sees the newspapers and remembers what day it is and this realization has him nearly walking into a car. The horn blows his eardrums apart, but Ben hardly notices it.

Saturday, it is Saturday. And that means that Caleb will fly back to Long Island today, to get to Anna and Abe, to get on the boat and fall right back into the memory Ben stared at so longingly only minutes ago.

The dualism of his feelings hits him right back. What shall he do? He hasn’t told Caleb the whole truth about yesterday yet and he isn’t sure if he wants to. He doesn’t want the knowing looks and the awkwardness again. When Caleb picked him up on the airport he didn’t even give him a hug, just this pat on the shoulder, studying him the whole exchange for a sign of a oncoming panic attack.

It was nice that somebody cared, it was nice that somebody was considerate about him but Ben isn’t sure if it will help anymore. He rubs his face and groans inwardly.  
How is he supposed to communicate his feelings with Caleb if he doesn’t even understand them himself?

What he knows though, is that he can’t ruin Caleb’s life any longer. Maybe he will find out he needs the comfort after all, probably the second the plane will take off with no way of catching it, but he can’t stop his friend from enjoying himself. It would look like envy, like he doesn’t begrudge Caleb the happiness simply because he can’t have it. He will hold his tongue than, he decides with a heavy sigh. He will hold his tongue and be done with it. That much at least he owes .

•••

When Ben returns with Hobbit, Caleb is already up and looking like Ben’s return saved him just barely from a heart attack. "Where the hell were you? I was worried sick! No word, you gone and after yesterday… after Arnold is here… I was worried sick, Ben!”

“Sorry," he mumbles and the usual head ducking follows. Great, so much for getting your life back together, Tallmadge. “Hobbit needed to get out and… you know.”

Caleb’s hand comes up and gives his shoulder a squeeze. “I was worried Ben, I’m not angry. Just tell me next time, kay? And remember to bring your cell! That’s what they are made for.”

His cell… “That thing is still at the youth center. It was in my coat pocket and well…”

Caleb only shakes his head and pushes a plate with eggs and bacon over, already cataloging Ben as a lost cause in this area.

After a few bites that tastes like absolute nothing, Ben looks up and tries a smile. “So, when is your plane leaving?”

“I’m not flying.”

Guilt hits Ben like a fucking train, crushing every bone inside him to dust. “What?”

Only when Hobbit jumps at Ben’s feet does the later realize he let the bacon slip from his fork. “Give!”

But there is nothing left to give and Hobbit simply smiles at Ben, very contend he was quicker than the human.

Caleb scratches his beard again and shrugs like it isn’t something big, only the vacation of the year he waited for 365 days. “I wanted to tell you yesterday, but we had kind of more important things to do, don’t you agree?”

No, no this can’t be. He can’t just have ruined a week of fun and friendship for Caleb and not even tried hard to do so. If he keeps screwing up like this, Caleb will tire of him in no time and who would be able to blame him? What will it be the next time Ben spoils anything? Thanksgiving? Christmas? He feels pearls of sweat forming at his back and not from the run. “Caleb…”

The voice of his friend cuts him short. “Benny, you okay there?”

“Yeah, I just… You don’t have to do this, you know. I’m fine!” He feels the opposite but still tries a smile, a convincing one. “It’s a big city and he has no idea where I live or work.”  
Caleb takes his hand from across the table not caring that he nearly knocks over the orange juice while doing so.

“Benny, you are worth it and you might be fine now but I don’t want you to need a friend and I’m off fishing and drinking beer and before you say something…” he continues with his hand raised to cut any protest, Ben could bring forwards. “I couldn’t fly anyways. The pilots are on strike and I can’t fly before Wednesday, at the earliest! And I certainly won’t drive.”

Ben manages a half grin. “I can double check that info.”

“Do what you must.”

•••

They settle for Wednesday then and it’s fine, Ben tells himself. They even manage to go for a swim on Sunday without Ben panicking, something that has him being proud of himself for the first time since an eternity. 

When they reach the door though, there is a note on it from one of Caleb’s neighbors, saying that some guy dropped something for Ben at their place.

“One of your coworkers?”

Ben can only shrug. “I gave no one the address but Sackett might have it from the job application, so maybe. Who else should it be after all?”

Caleb doesn’t answer that one, nor does he mention the GPS signal. He simply walks Ben over to Mrs. Coleman to fetch whatever the mysterious person left there and silently begs the old lady not to have offered the mysterious person a cup of coffee and cookies because she thought he could just wait there for them to come back.

Lucky them, only Mrs. Coleman and her cat Gilbert are home, the latter lazily lolling on the carpet. He is a French breed Caleb can’t even pronounce and nearly as old as Mrs. Coleman if you’d ask him.

“Caleb, so nice to see you again! And this fine young man must be Mr. Tallmadge.”

Ben hints a bow that has the old lady chuckling. “Such a lovely young man. If I couldn’t be your grandmother boy…”

Ben forces another smile. “You flatter me, Mrs. Coleman.”

“The note on the door, Mrs. Coleman." Caleb cuts in, “You have something for Ben, right?”

She lets out a giggle. “Oh yes, yet another goods looking man, a bit older but sadly still too young for me, but very polite. Let me see, my boy, what I remember. He was taller than you two, that is for sure, and broader and I think his hair was of a darker color, brown, reddish, anything, definitely not blonde, but besides this, I’m afraid I can’t give you much. My glasses, you see." A theatrical sight. "I misplace them all the time.”

“Did you catch a name?” Caleb can only hope it sounds casual, but Ben still throws him a quizzical look. Fuck, he has always been far too clever for his own good.

The old lady purses her lips and thinks for a moment. “No, not that I remember. Hasn’t come in either, said he has to work. On a Sunday, can you imagine? He had a nice car though… black and with a star.”

That has Ben relaxed and it is all Caleb needs. “Thank you, Mrs. Coleman. Now, what did he leave with you?”

She laughs and claps Caleb’s arm upon hearing his words. “Silly me, I nearly forgot! Wait a second, I’ll get it.” 

She waddles over to the couch and Ben is about to ask if he should get it for her, when she calls over. “Got it! A coat and a cell phone.”

Washington! Ben is a bit taken aback, but after yesterday he likely shouldn’t wonder about anything concerning that man.

•••

Monday comes with so much rain that Ben manages to look like he just stepped out of a shower when he arrives at the museum. 

So much about the English weather jokes he heard! Ben leaves a line of little puddles trailing behind him on the floor and the first person he must run into is Bradford. Of course! Why can’t it be Mary? He kind of gets again why people tend to hate Mondays.

“So, Tallmadge, you went to a party of the big man? Hope you looked a bit better there.”

Ben raises an eyebrow and can only think that he has heard better lines from his freshmen when he was still a teacher. “At least dryer.”

“You weren’t working on Friday.”

Great, that kind of conversation. He just loved it in high school, he loved it in college and university but aren’t they kind of grownups now. He doesn’t answer but heads over to the nearest bathroom.

Annoyingly, Bradford follows him and Ben really would prefer to be in high school again now, because than he could punch the dick and get away with it. But he isn’t and Bradford doesn’t look like he wants to leave anytime soon. “Must have been quite the party from what I heard.”

From what he heard? Right, the newspaper article. Does he want to know what Hamilton said about him or Arnold or why he was a mess with his face pressed into Mr. George soon to be Mayor Washington’s chest? Probably not. 

“Look, if you have something to say, just say it.”

“Hey, Ben!” Mary comes in, all dry and smiling and Ben is reminded of the mothers that always manage to get their kids to school, even in a blizzard and make it look like it was so easy. Mary obviously will be one of them, he figures. The moment she gets a good look on him, she stops dead.

Bradford meanwhile turns around and all his charm is switched on again. “Nice seeing you again, Mary.”

Mary ignores him and grabs Ben by the shoulder. “Come, there is a hand dryer in the bathroom on the floor Sackett’s office is on. It might just have been intended for hands but that hair of yours will certainly not mind.”

Ben is more than happy about her effectiveness and for the moment content with ignoring Bradford’s remark about bathrooms. He just wants to get dry again.  
“You okay?” Mary askes him when they are out of earshot and she sounds so worried that Ben figures he likely should read the article. Only now it occurs to him, that Hamilton might very well have ruined his reputation, life, whatever, just to save Washington’s. After all, that is his job.

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just the rain…” He shrugs. “How was your weekend?”

She only shakes her head and gives his hand a squeeze. “Hey, you don’t have to play brave. I heard from Lexy what happened. She called me to let me know and I’m sorry for your loss.”

Ben can only blink. “Loss?”

“Yeah. She read it in the newspaper. Stupid reporters! I mean, you are not a celebrity or anything, so they should mind their own stuff. Just nice of Washington to react like this.”  
His loss… Yeah, that is a good story! It explains the tears and the numbness, the cellar and even why Washington cares.

Hamilton really is a genius he figures and a nice one for he could have said a bunch of other less flattering things. So, he now only needs to find out who died. “Thanks, Mary." he mumbles and she gives his hand another squeeze.

“Don’t mention it! And Bradford simply is an ass. I just hate the way he is always being mean to every man in existence and then turns around to smile at me. He is such a playboy!”

Ben can wholeheartedly agree with her on that one and they make it to the bathroom in content silence. Lucky him, the hand dryer there does work wonders on his hair, but his clothes are still soaked- again but there is nothing to be done about it. But at least he is a bit more presentable now.

“The cleaning crew will have me all but court marshalled for ruining their work.”

“Get a hoody from the gift shop, Tallmadge.” A voice behind him suddenly calls out and Ben whirls around just in time to see Alexander Hamilton winking at him. “Just an idea.” With that he is gone, jumping the stairs down like a five-year-old on a sugar trip.

Mary gives Ben a curious look. “Was that… Mr. Washington’s right hand man? Hamilton?”

Not her as well! “Yeah, we kind of met in a tech store when I bought my new cell and then at this event of Washington’s.”

Her eyes become a bit softer. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude.”

The corner of his mouth jerks, but not in a laughing way. “Don’t worry about it.”

•••

When Ben comes back at the library of the museum that, as Mary told him, serves also as a bit of a lunch room for the museum folks, he can only silently thank Hamilton for the idea of the hoody. It is warm and dry and he feels like a totally different person with it, a dry one for starters.

He searches for Mary but she is in the back, eagerly talking with the Viking expert for whom she did the age validation of a coin. Ben remembers a bit belatedly that he should ask her what came out, especially given how nice she was to him. But first, he needs to check who died.

The newspaper article is mostly plain, a bit about the party, Washington’s speech and all the great work he did in the Bronx. Only when Ben scrolls to the next page, he is met with his own puffy eyes on a nice big picture. Great!

Maybe he shouldn’t thank Hamilton after all, but still, the story is solid. Ben only makes a face when he finds out about the sudden death of his girlfriend. He makes a face at the mere thought of it. Was Hamilton making him straight for the sake of some potential voters, so they wouldn’t be offended? But then he scrolls back at the picture of him and the answer is more than obvious: It is to clear out any doubts about why the man might have been cradling him. Washington’s reputation, he reminds himself.

Ben puts the phone away and walks over to have a look on his tour schedule for today when he is hit by the choking smell of too much cologne. He doesn’t even have to turn around to know Bradford still isn’t playing with his numbers.

“You got a present, Tallmadge.”

He what? That has him turn around and grant Bradford another glance. “From whom?”

“How should I know? Some book. Over there.” He points to the staff’s shelfs, a slimy grin on his face. “Mary was quite interested from whom it might be. Probably a girl of yours, I told her.”

Only when Ben is already halfway to the shelfs he remembers that his girlfriend is supposed to have died just a few days ago. Nice, Bradford, charming way to talk about your colleagues!

He finds his shelf rather quickly and in there, next to a soaked backpack and a jacket lies a little plastic bag that wasn’t there when he left. Who would send him a present? And why to his cubicle?

It is a book, just as Bradford said. The Iliad. Ben looks at it bewildered and needs a few seconds before he gets that there is a card in the bag as well. 

The card is nice, thick paper, pricy quality and nothing like the things he would get from a friend- given he had no one in the city except Caleb. Or could it be…? 

Abe, the whole thing must be from Abe! He was nearly done with law school when Ben left for Europe. Maybe he came to the city because of a client. Caleb probably talked with him as well and Abe has always been the more forgiving one. Ben practically lacerates the envelope, not caring if the paper is worth a fortune and flips the card open, only to have all the energy and hope draining from him. It's not Abe. Or Anna. Or anyone he cares about.

No hard feelings because of Friday, right? Take it as a redemption for I know you like them.   
PS: Call me when you can

There is a phone number added, no signature. He lets the card sink and sighs. What did he expect? It isn’t like he has done anything to deserve a second chance with his friends.  
He puts both back in the bag and sighs. Hamilton! The man probably just dropped it here after some business he had to attend to in Washington’s name. A nice feature given he only gave Ben a dead girlfriend and a shitty newspaper picture to cover up the whole fiasco but Ben can’t really find it in him to be thankful or to send the man a quick text. Thinking of it, he isn’t even sure if it is Hamilton’s or Washington’s number- not that it would make a difference. They probably just want to tell him to stick to the story or something like this. 

He just really should stop getting his hopes up. There is a reason after all why Anna ignores his phone calls and why Abe only sent him one short note back, stating he is busy. He should get it into his brain and better sooner than later, he thinks, as he walks to his first class of kids this day.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I said it's a thriller...

“You are really ok with this, Ben?”

Ben looks up from the shabby backpack he just shoved into the cab. “Do you think I will tell you something else after you asked me a dozen times more?”

Caleb grabs the backpack and for a second, Ben is nearly sure he’ll heave it out of the trunk again, no matter the effort it cost Ben to get it there in the first place. “I could cancel the flight, Benny. I mean it!”

Ben gets into the cab without even glancing at him. What should he say to this after all? Cancel it because I might or might not have a panic attack? This was his new normal now and Caleb couldn’t cancel his whole life for him. “I’m good, Caleb.”

Strangely enough, he was. He wasn’t perfect, maybe he never would be but he was better and for the first time in what felt like ages he could imagine that the breakup could be just that, a breakup, not a death sentence.

The first time that had occurred to him, he nearly choked on the coffee Mary had happily put in front of him on their lunch break as a thank you gift for listening to her talk about her crush on a guy that had offered her and her son a place in his cab on Monday.

She asked him if everything was okay and he grinned at her like mad, probably looking like he was on drugs and he felt like it as well.

He suddenly saw a silver lining. Sure, Arnold was in New York and he would be lying if he said that the thought doesn’t still have him on edge from time to time but it is a great city. Arnold probably never came here because of him in the first place. How could he? It wasn’t like Arnold could track him and he had zero connections to New York. He was only here because Caleb lived here and as far as Arnold knew, he and Caleb hadn’t talked for two years and that only means one thing: He isn’t here for Ben but probably for Washington. After all, it was his party they bumped into each other at. Business, not love, not him.

It was that new line of thoughts that had Ben suddenly going to Starbucks for a coffee on a whim, something he had never done before- and he even told the waiter his real name for the cup. Only one whole big pumpkin spice latte later did he wonder if he should have lied and he was more than happy to be able to reject the idea as insane. Ben wasn’t really a rare name after all and Arnold wouldn’t ask in every Starbucks in the city for a list of customers. It was fine!

Anyways, the man would get that it was over, probably already had! Why should the Benedict Arnold run after some man that dumped him, when he could get all the pretty feelings and adoration he wanted without any trouble?

There are plenty of other fish in the sea and a lot of them far more generous with admiration and a less difficult catch! He isn’t the only one out there and Arnold can be charming if he wants to be, very charming. It wasn’t like Ben fell for his right hook.

With that realization in his mind, he worked the three days and managed it without a breakdown, without waking up from nightmares, at least not more than once a night and without constantly having to check who was behind him.

In the evenings, when Caleb was watching football or baseball games, he started reading the book Washington or his Junior got for him and texted a quick thank you that took him ages to write. What to say to such a man and how to react to a present from him? However, Washington was too much of a mystery right now and would only spoil his peace. There was no thinking about Washington without thinking about Arnold, so Ben had simply decided to ban the thoughts about him from his head and for most of the times, it worked.  
He even made some progress in the socializing area. Today, Mary asked him out of the blue if he wanted to come over for dinner on Friday- given he doesn’t mind her son Thomas and Ben accepted without even thinking and he is truly looking forwards to it. No therapist needed with this problem. “Really, Caleb, I’m good!”

His friend doesn’t look too convinced though, but at least he gets in the cap. “I’ll talk with Anna again.”

“Caleb…”

“I don’t do Thanksgiving without you!”

That has Ben speechless and in more than one way.

Thanksgiving… Shit, why did some long dead person have to think it important to celebrate family and friendship? Like in a nationwide holiday? The man probably was mad or without a family or otherwise he wouldn’t want to have one more holiday to celebrate with them. However, Caleb’s statement warms his heart, even if it means almost certainly trouble with Anna. “Don’t talk with her yet, okay? I don’t know if I have to work on that day.”

Caleb raised an eyebrow. “Sure, solid reason! Maybe an asteroid will destroy the world, so better have no plans at all. What would I do without you, right?”

Ben is surprised with himself when he hears himself chuckle.

The ride is swift and painless and as soon as they get out of the cab and Ben is face to face with the airport, his personal lowest in New York, his starting point- and he is practically grinning.

Admittingly, he can hardly recall much from his own arrival two weeks ago, other than a migraine, a shirt that sticks to his back, no matter how much the A/C tried to freeze the air around him and the coffee shop Caleb had directed him to so they would be able to find each other in that hubbub, now his eyes wonder over all the things and stores and he takes in the great space, laughter and many voices and it looks so much like life, like pure vitality.

The feeling is contagious and he finds himself returning the wave of a little girl that sits there with her parents and her teddy bear, waiting for the start of her vacation. The hall they are in now is full of people and Ben likes it. Not just because it isn’t Heathrow, he really loves it.

Caleb takes one look at half of New York’s population that seems to be standing in that hall. “Ben?”

A playful clap to the shoulder is all the answer he needs. “You would be a great mother hen!”

“Nah, I don’t do kids. That’s your part! Let’s go.”

Going they do, squeezing through the crowds of families reunited, business people and far too many ice creams and coffee to go that wants to leave a reminder on their clothes. On the other hand, maybe it only seems so crowded because they make a game of steeplechase out of it, laughing like little kids. Ben could really get used to that! However, the fun doesn’t last, for when they make their way through a crowd of newly arrived Chinese and one bumps into him, Caleb goes stiff, eyes automatically darting over to him, laughter replaced by concern. Even now Ben is fine- and prouder of it than he even was when he came top of his year at school.

They grab a donut and wait for the flight to be called out, Caleb’s gaze now less nervous by the minute. “I’m proud of you, Bennyboy. You know that? Never let anyone tell that you are weak. I don’t know anyone who could have gone through that hell and be like you now. You know, healing, laughing, living.”

Heat is rising in his cheeks and Ben lowers his head but he is grinning nevertheless. “I told you, I’m fine.”

“That you did.”

It doesn’t make saying farewell easier and it doesn’t stop Caleb from offering Ben to stay one last time, the thrill of anticipation already in his eyes.

“You are the bestest friend one could wish for, Caleb.” It comes out awkward, more awkward than Ben intended but Caleb gets the meaning and pulls him in for one last embrace.  
“I have my cell with me and a solar recharger.”

It’s horribly cliché but Ben has tears in his eyes, when Caleb lets go of him. He really has the best friend in the world! “Have fun.”

×•×

Ben does linger a bit in the stores, shopping without buying and he feels almost relaxed. The clock is what has him leaving in the end.

He must work tomorrow and Hobbit wasn’t out yet, so no need to dawdle anymore. He tries to make his way through the Chinese again, another donut in his hands, when a more than familiar baritone behind him calls his name. So much for banning the man from his thoughts. He turns around, a polite smile on his face but the donut suddenly lost his taste. “Mr. Washington, sir.”

A small smile is playing around the corners of the man’s mouth, one of these Ben could never in a million times decipher. “You are off on a vacation?”

Ben can practically feel the eyes of the Chinese on him, starring and it makes his hands sweaty or is it the question? Relax, he is only being polite! Think about Caleb’s little speech and don’t ruin it now. “I only saw a friend of mine to his plane.”

“I see.” Washington studies him for a second and Ben’s heart is pacing by the time he speaks up again, “I’m glad you recovered from Friday.”

Recovered? A nice way to say it, a very subtle way. His heart slows down a bit. Only polite… “Thank you, sir. And I wanted to thank you again in person for returning my cell and the book. It wouldn’t have been necessary, although I…” Washington’s expression has him stopping. “What?”

“I don’t know what you are talking about, Mr. Tallmadge, but it seems you confused me with another person.”

Cold dread is settling in his stomach and slowly freezing his entrails.

“When I sent Alex to fetch your things, they were already gone and I haven’t given you a book.”

This can’t be. It cannot be! His hands are trembling and no matter the block of ice in his inside, he breaks out in cold sweat. “I wrote you a message.” His voice is high, violating even his own ears but there is nothing he can do to stop it. It only gets higher and louder, hysterical. “I wrote a message to the number on the card and you answered it. With your name!”

Washington’s eyes narrow but his voice becomes a softer quality. “I haven’t texted you back, nor done anything of the other things. I… Mr. Tallmadge! Ben!”

Ben isn’t listening, he isn’t even hearing him. He runs into one of the Chinese, stumbles but keeps running, not seeing any of it. He only sees the clues and between all of them, he sees Arnold’s smile, feels his fingers on his skin, his mouth… The sweetness of the donut is suddenly sickening and he tastes it a second time, combined with bile and his heart. A heart, that paces quicker than even Ben.

A flash of blue eyes has him ducking, colliding with a child, the wailing piercing into his brain but it combines itself with his own crying, with Arnold’s laughter and with his own voice screaming in his head while he is unable to say only one word.

Arnold!

He has his new number.

He knows where he lives.

He was there! He was at his home, at his workplace, he knows, he knows everything!

Hot tears are running down his face. He isn’t getting better, he got sloppy, he got caught and now, Arnold will get him. Ben topples over, vomiting coffee, donuts and his hopes and ambitions onto someone’s shoes.

The taste of vomit still in his mouth, he stagers farther, always farther. Where shall he go? Where… “Do you need a cab, sir?”

Ben all but dives into the car. He needs to gather his things, maybe take Hobbit and then run! No matter where, he simply needs to run. A new job, maybe a new name. No friends this time.

Show me how much you missed me.

You are mine.

My precious boy.

He tangles his fingers into his hair, sobbing, pleading with the voice to leave him alone. However, the voice doesn’t leave, it will never leave him alone, just like Arnold will never leave him alone. He is trapped, trapped like a fly in a spider web.

The voice is talking on, talking and talking while the rest of his body feels. He feels the blow to his nose, the rips, all the places Arnold has touched him- will touch him again.  
A blow to the stomach has him toppling over, landing on the empty backseats. He hugs himself, trying to shield himself from memory, prediction, reality. “I love you, my darling boy.”

Teary eyes look up at the face before him, sobs choking him like hands, like his hands. “I was so close to normal again.”

“This is your normal. It will always be your normal.” Arnold cups his face and Ben heaves again at the touch, vomiting the rest of his stomach contain into the footwell, while Arnold is licking his ear, hands running up his thighs.

The cabby keeps driving, not saying a word to Ben’s behavior, not saying a word to his destination. In the airstream through the open window, a colorful rosary swings happily under the driving mirror.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short one this time, but major things are about to happen...   
> And who of you will be able to tell me what it is after that chapter? I'm really exited! Have fun with it!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I explained the terms used in that chapter below it in the notes

“Do we… name?”

He tries to open his eyes. Where is he? He shudders but can’t really tell if it is from the pain or the cold. A hand comes down on his cheek and he tries to fight it off but finds that lifting his arm is so difficult. When did it become so heavy?

“GCS 10, possibly 9. Stay ready for intubation in case he crashes.”

Who is that? What crushes. What are they talking about?

“Pulse?”

“112.”

“Bloodpressure?”

“120/70.”

“Damn, he is quiet close to a circulation failure. Infusion?”

“PVC lies. Infusion is good to go.”

“500ml hypertonic sodium chloride. Let’s hope he just needs some fluid.”

His head hurts. Why are they talking so loud? He just wants to sleep again.

“Ready 1g Suprarenin, just in case. Do not give it yet!”

“1g Suprarenin ready.”

Why can’t they leave him alone?

“Stiff neck.”

“Stiff neck.”

“Cut away the remaining clothes.”

“Cutting away the clothes.”

“Get the scoop.”

He falls back into unconsciousness with the taste of bile and tears in his mouth.

×•×  
The next time he wakes up, he takes one breath and knows where he is. Only one place in the world holds the biting sting of antiseptic in the air and the monotone peeping next to him confirms his suspicion before he even opens his eyes. A hospital. Again.

His mouth is as dry as the Gobi Desert when he tries to speak and only a cough works his way out of his throat, a painful one.

There is a hand that gently eases the streaks out of his face and Ben leans into the touch. At least he is not alone. His vision is blurry when he tries to look up and he closes his eyes again as he gets more light-headed by the second.

“Thank god, you are awake! I was worried sick the last few hours. Let me fetch the doctors.”

Ben tries to figure out why his heart is panicking. A hospital isn’t a bad thing, is it? But why is he in one? It all feels muffled, his head, the memories…

There is some talk in the background, the noise hurting his head even farther, but he can’t shield away from it. His body is too heavy. He can just lie there and hope they will stop talking soon so he can sleep again. He is so tired.

Then suddenly one of the voices pierce through his aching brain. “No, please wait outside, sir. I need to check him over.”

He doesn’t want to be checked over. He wants to sleep. He wants the hand back.

“But…”

“You can come in afterwards. Don’t worry, he is in good hands.”

“I’ll be outside.”

Ben just wishes they would tell him what is going on.

“Hello there.”

There is no way around this it seems. Maybe the person will leave him once he sees that Ben is well. He opens his eyes again, avoiding the bright sunlight as good as he can. “Hey.”  
God, even talking hurts.

“Wait, I’ll fetch you some water.” Something white moves out of his sight and then reappears. Who is this?

A glass of water is pressed to his mouth and nothing has ever tasted so good before in his entire life. After a few deep gulps, he feels a bit less like dying from dehydration and tries to crack a smile. “Thank you.”

There are hands again on his face, but they aren’t gentle or comforting. It’s a clinical touch that has Ben huddling into himself. He suddenly feels like a child again, afraid and alone.

“Is the light bothering you?”

He wants to spare his voice and nods instead, but that was an even worse idea. He only barely manages not to throw up at the sudden movement. Luckily, the white thing just gets up and forecloses the light until it is pleasantly dark inside without another question. “Thanks.”

“No problem. Now, can you tell me your name?”

Does he think him silly? “Ben Tallmadge.”

“Who old are you?”

He squeezes his eyes shut as a new wave of dizziness hits him. So much for no questions! “Could we do this another time? Please!”

“It’s important.”

Sure! Wasn’t it always? He grabs the blanket for support. “27.”

“Do you know where you are?”

“A hospital?”

“You aren’t sure, Mr. Tallmadge? What is the last place you remember?”

He swallows. Can’t they do the fucking form another time?

“Are you going to be sick?” There was a hint of panic in the voice, but Ben couldn’t care less.

A kidney dish is placed under his mouth just in time and it feels like he is vomiting his entrails out, pain flaring up all over his body, a white, blinding agony. The heaves don’t stop for some time and he lies there, battered, wishing it to be over, wishing for some comfort.

“Are you good again?”

“Yes.” He whispered. No nodding anymore. No need to trigger anything.

“Do you know why you are here?”

Why can’t he just sleep? His eyelids get heavy and he has to fight to stay awake. “Don’t you?”

“I’m asking you Mr. Tallmadge.”

“My head hurts.”

The pause has him wondering if he missed something important here. He thinks he can hear someone scribbling but it might just be is imagination. He doesn’t want this, not the scribbling, not the questions, not the hallucinations. He wants to sleep.

“Do you know the date?”

“13th of September.” Caleb’s plane left on that day. Is it still this day?

“Do you know the year?”

“2017.”

“Good. I will have a look at your pupils now and after that, I will call in your friend again. You are really lucky the paramedics checked your phone for his number. He dropped everything for you. You are lucky to have him.”

Ben opens his eyes again, something eating at him. His phone… “Who is here?”

The white thing pads his hand. “You’ll see in a second. Now look at me.”

A light blinds him, burning its way through his eyes into his head, reopening old wounds in his bleeding brain and rubbing salt into his sore mind. He squeezes his eyes shut and can here the white thing mutter something. He doesn’t care. He wants it to go! He wants to sleep. Ben cradles his throbbing head and cries.

A streak of lights suddenly falls into the room and Ben squeezes his eyes shut even tighter. No, no!

There is a hand on his again. Comfort, safty. He unconsciously huddles against that person, seeking all the protection it can offer.

A hand lightly strokes over his head. “Hush!”

“I…”

“I know. It’s going to be alright. You will get better and we will work this out together, Benjamin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GCS stands for Glasgow Coma Scale and messures the level of awareness after a head injury. It goes from 15 to 3 with 8 being the critical point to intubate.
> 
> Suprarenin is adrenaline as a medication and is given in circulatory failure
> 
> The index for circulatory failure is (pulse)/(systolic blood pressure) and it should never be greater than 1, so that's why they were concerned. 
> 
> OK, I think I explained all of it, but if you have questions, just write me


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Washington to the rescue! Or is he too late?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, sorry for the long wait. I hope you like the chapter and the new direction though.  
> A fair warning at the beginning, the chapter does read more violently than it is actually, simply because it is in a very close POV of Ben.

It is 10am when Washington’s cell suddenly buzzles in the middle of a meeting.

Alex grins at him across the foundations of their new database, he so far has worked out. “Don’t tell me, you managed to arrange a second date with Miss Culper.”

Washington sets the estimate of costs of the whole thing aside and reaches for his phone, cracking an eyebrow. “Who?”

Dramatically, Alex rolls his eyes. “The lovely young lady I set you up with this weekend. Don’t tell me, you have forgotten her name already.”

Wasn’t Culper the one from the weekend before? But who was he to ask. Why couldn’t Alex just stop this whole match making? It would never work, even if he were interested in finding a woman to marry. 

The caller ID has him frowning for a second, before answering the call, the brat and its pranks already forgotten. “Nate, what can I do for you?”

“George, my old friend, I…”

A small smile tucks at his lips as he already grabs the check book. After all, he knows that tone. “Favor? How much?”

“Do you have a phone number of Tallmadge?”

What? Washington has to put every ounce of self-control he has ever mastered into maintaining a flat face and voice. Why is Nate coming with this to him? He forcefully pushes the image of Ben away. “No.”

“Damn, you were my last hope. With the party and everything else… You know… I just thought you might have a home number to call. His cell is dead.”

Slowly, he puts the check book down, trying to remind his heart that they are talking about a damn cell. These things die all the time. It’s not Ben! But still, his façade is cracking. “Dead?”

Nate huffs, more annoyed than worried. “Yeah, we can’t reach him, doesn’t respond to anything and…”

But Washington isn’t listening anymore, he only sees Ben’s panicked face again, him dashing away and not answering when Washington calls after him. The fear in the boy’s… No, not boy! Arnold called him boy. The fear in Ben’s eyes had been enough to nearly put Washington in a panic attack as well. Good god! The thanks, Ben gave him for returning his cell, for the book is ringing in his head like the damn liberty bell. But it wasn’t him, it was… it might have been… 

Washington doesn’t even register, he lets the cell fall to the table. On autopilot he reaches for his coat. 

“Pa?”

He throws the tablet and Alex jacket at him and dashes through the door. “Locate Tallmadge’s cell!”

 

“Sir, we need you to relax. You are safe, there is no reason to…”

“No!” Ben yanks the needle out of his arm. He needs to go, he needs to leave and run. The countryside, the South, Canada, just run. Distance is everything. He needs to leave. 

“Please, sir, calm down.”

Why can’t they see, why can’t they understand? He can’t calm down. Danger, he is… Arnold is here! E needs to run. Now!

“He will hurt me.” Hurt… Ben can’t even bring himself to think about the other things. The ugly word there in his head like a cancer. No. No!

A hand comes down, but he kicks it away. No hands, no hands! Not again. 

“Calm down.”

“He was your emergency contact.”

“I am your boyfriend.”

“He will hurt me.”

“Let me see that arm of yours.”

“You are bleeding.”

“Calm down!”

“Be good, my darling boy.”

NO!

A hand. “Relax, it won’t hurt.”

“Yes, relax for me.” Fingers, hands, hands in his hair. 

Get of me!

Someone jostles him down, down into the bed, pins him there. “It is over soon.”

“My sweet little boy.”

Bile in his mouth. Tears. Air, he needs air. Hands, so many hands. No!

“How pretty you are.”

Please no!

A mouth on his neck. “I always loved it when you squirm. You want this, don’t you? I know you do!”

He strikes at the voice. No, he doesn’t want this. Stop, stop! He doesn’t… he doesn’t… Get of me!

Someone pulls his pants down and the feeling of hands on his ass has Ben finally vomiting. No, god, no!

“It’s ok. We will take care of this.”

A stroking hand, then a slap that has Ben yelping. “I will take care of you. My darling boy, my sweet little boyfriend. I missed you. Let me show you just how much.”  
Ben screams. Why isn’t somebody coming? Why isn’t someone helping him? “No.”

 

“Hush now. It is over soon.”

A piercing pain is the last thing he remembers. Not again!

 

Preliminary medical report

Dear esteemed colleague,

We are referring to the patient mentioned above, who was in the care of our hospital from the 14th of September to_____________ concerning several traumata. 

Course  
The patient was referred to our ER with a head trauma GCS 10, several bruised bones a fractured rip (right side, rip number 7) and an apical pneumothorax on the left side.  
We could conservatively relieve the pneumothorax with a drainage. CT scans showed no dislocation for the rip fracture and no brain bleeding, but the patient showed only limited awareness with GCS decelerating to 8 during the first days.  
On the 16th September, the patient woke again but showed symptoms of a delirium caused by the head trauma… ( _note: question psychiatrist if this crazy outbreak was really just a normal delirium. Shift the patient to a psychiatry!!!!!_ )  
We forcefully medicated him with a single dose of Haloperidol i.m. ( _note: ask the psychiatrist if there is another way, maybe longer lasting. We can’t put the staff through this ordeal again!_ )

Preexisting illnesses ( _note: third-party anamnestic_ )  
Status post radius surgery 2017  
Status post rip fractures 2017 and 2016  
Status post (note: not all fractures and surgeries remembered. Consul with London on the patient’s chart)  
Borderline disorder  
Delusional tendencies (untreated so far)  
…

Examination  
Cor: (fill in later)  
Pulmo: (fill in later)  
Abdomen: (fill in later)  
Neuronal: (fill in later)  
Psych:  
Disoriented in three of the four qualities, non-adequate behavior with a tendency of delusional behavior. Misrecognition of close persons. ( _note: Psychotic break???_ )  
We requested a psych evaluation given his behavior and the medical history and based on the results of that we will request a shift into a mental hospital.  
…


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I sped up a bit. I hope you like it: Washington to the rescue

“You see, you have nowhere to go, Benjamin. So stop all of this nonsense." 

Ben looks down at the medical report but he can’t make out any of the words. They dislimn before his eyes no matter how hard he blinks. His hands start shaking and only Arnold can keep him from falling face first off the bed. 

He struggles against the hands that burn him, hurt him, will hurt him, but it is a weak copy of a battle, one he cannot win. Ben’s head is swimming, pounding. Cold sweat runs down his back as he fights to keep the bile down.

A hand strokes the wisps of hair out of his eyes. Gently, tenderly.

“Easy, my sweet boy. Don’t struggle. I don’t want you to get even more hurt. Just come to your senses and we can resolve this mess. So it will be all okay again. We can forgive each other, can’t we?”

“No.”

Arnold sighs deeply and the hand gets rougher, more possessive.

"Benjamin, don’t be stubborn. Do you want to be locked away in a mental hospital? Forced medication, cuffed to a bed, surrounded by kooks?”

Now the tears he has struggled against rolled freely over his cheeks. No, no he doesn’t want this. He doesn’t… “I’m not crazy!”

The scream drowns him of all the little energy he has left and when he struggles for air Arnold is there again, cradling him.

“Hush, my pretty little boy. I know, I know you are not but stop acting like it. I can get you out of here and I will take care of you, just like old times.”

Arnold places a tender kiss to his forehead and Ben is sure it will choke him here and now. Just like old times. Ben shudders as his fingers trace over the scar on his right arm. It still throbs mercilessly from time to time. When he finds his voice again, it is only a whisper. “Go away.”

“Benjamin, stop this…”

“Go!” His hand connects with something, hopefully his nose, but he isn’t sure. His vision swims again and black dots appear everywhere. God, his own hand even hurt. 

Someone says something in the back, a conversation. Ben tries to fight his way through this darkness, back to consciousness but it’s so hard, so unbelievable hard. Are they talking about him? Who is this? All he can make out is a loud boom that stabs into his head like knives. Why are they screaming? He grabs the blanket for support and curled into himself. “I’m not crazy, I’m not…”

The room goes dark, but he is still able to hear the people screaming. 

×•×

When he comes around again, some nurse is fiddling with the infusions. “This time, they bloody stay where they are.”

Ben cringes. Did she know he was awake? He hopes not, can’t bear the idea of more hostility as he stares up at the bottles and wonder, what is in there. Medications? Tranquilizer? Something to shut him up and make him Arnold’s little boy again? He feels the bile rise and this time it isn’t because of his head. He swallows and tries to lick his lips. God, they feel like sandpaper. “Please…”

The nurse turns around and there is a smile on her face, one Ben is sure is fake. “You’re awake, sweetie. Don’t panic. It’s alright. Do you want some water?”

He tries to shake his head but the blinding white pain has him stop rather quickly. No water, freedom. “I’m not crazy.”

She pats his hand. “It’s okay, sweetie, I’ll get you some water. Just calm down.”

But he doesn’t want to calm down, he wants them to know. Why don’t they believe him? Why does no one believe him? “I’m not…”

The nurse is already out the door. Ben looks at the open hole of freedom longingly. Maybe he can simple walk away! However, as he tried to move, he registered, that he is strapped to the bed like some criminal. No. No! Tears well up in his eyes and he choked on a sob. Let me go! I’m not crazy, I’m not crazy, I’m not…

“Ben?”

His head shoots up and a groan slips through his lips, no matter how much he fights. His vision looks like the watercolor picture of a two years old. “Please…”

“Good God, Ben!”

He flinches away when there are hands again. No, not again. Why can’t the man leave him alone? “Arnold, no…”

The hands move to his restrictions and Ben can’t stop himself from shaking. What will come next? Cuffs? Pain?

“Shhh, he isn’t here. It’s okay, Ben, I won’t harm you.”

Ben sniffles and pulls the hand to his chest as soon as it is free again. “Please.”

“Calm down, Ben, please. Calm down, your hyperventilating.”

“I’m… not… crazy.”

Arnold reaches for his freed hand. “Ben…”

“I’m not crazy!” He isn’t, he isn’t!

“Ben, I’m not…”

He strikes out but misses. New black dots arising. “Go away, go…”

But he doesn’t. Instead, hands come to rest on his face, his cheeks, caging his head. No, no! His ribs feel like he is breaking them all over again but he needs to get away from Arnold, he needs…

A thumb strokes over the bruised skin feather lightly. “Ben, look at me!”

“No…”

“Look at me, Ben, please.”

Unable to move, he obliges, but the eyes he is looking in aren’t blue, they are brown and warm.

“You are safe, Ben. It is alright.”

He isn’t, he isn’t. He will never be! Not with Arnold, not with the doctors. He will never…. “I’m not crazy." he hiccups.

“Shhh…”

Ben is sobbing now, tears and snot all over his face. “I’m…”

Washington lightly wipes all of it away with the sleeve of some thousand-dollar jacket. “I know.”

The simple sentence has Ben nearly curling into Washington. He isn’t, he really isn’t. Is he?

The hands move from his face and pulls him into a hug, not the squeeze he is used to, but something that reminds him of home, of his mother before things went sour. “I got you, Ben.”

“I…”

“Shhh, I know.” When Ben has calmed down enough to stop trembling, Washington cups his face again and waits, till Ben looks him in the eye. “Ben, do you trust me?”

He swallows and all the things come rushing back to him. The party, Alex, Arnold… He chokes back a sob as the phantom touch of Arnold’s hands makes his skin crawl. What will be Washington’s prize?

“Ben?” A new tone of urgency makes it into Washington’s voice. “Do you trust me?”

No! “Yes.”

Washington doesn’t waste any time. Ben can’t recall, how the man did it but suddenly Ben is standing or better yet, leaning on him and struggling to keep his entrails down. Why is it suddenly so hot in here?

“Ok, breath Ben. You can do this! Are you going to be sick?”

Answering is out of the question and so he lets Washington guide him to a chair and sips obediently, as a cup of water is pressed to his lips. “Arnold, he…”

He thinks he sees Washington clenching the cup in a death grip at the mention of this name, but he can’t be sure. “I know. Alex is distracting the staff and him right now. The boy is a genius, especially in causing a mess. Now, let’s get you out of here.”

×•×

Ben can’t recall much from there on. It is bright, too bright and he hides his face in Washington’s chest, desperately trying to shield himself from the light. It only later he realizes that it is a miracle the man allowed it. He must have ruined that shirt and jacket.

Walking is a task too big for him, his feet heavy like stone. He can’t tell how the made it out of the clinic and Ben prays Washington didn’t carry him, but the fresh scent of cool air brings back a few moments of awareness. Hence, only a few.

The cab is better, much better. Darker and he can lie down again, curling into himself and trying to be good, trying not to make a mess. God, his head is killing him. He presses his face into the hard pillow his head came to rest on and cries.

Suddenly, a hand rests on him. Ben squeezes his eyes shut when he feels the gentle strokes. Arnold!

Undemanding. No, not Arnold. Washington, he is with Washington. But why? Why is Washington here? The clinic. His escape. What if he made a mistake?

The hand falters. “Do you need a break? I can ask the cabby to pull over, Ben.”

“No.” Ben isn’t sure if he really managed to say this word or just thought it but the hand continues and it guides him into a fitful slumber.

×•×

When he wakes up again the surface he lays on is unbelievably soft, his head on a pillow that doesn’t worsen the pounding of his head and the light has mercifully been shut out. Ben groans and struggles to sit up. Where is he? What…

Footsteps are suddenly audible and they have him falter, cower. It takes all his courage not to flinch when the door is pushed open.

“Ben? Good, you are awake.”

There in a pool of brightness stands Washington. The light makes it unbearable to look at him and Ben can’t tell for sure the look on his face. He cowers even deeper into the blanket. Why is it good that he is awake? What are Washington’s plans?

When the man moves over and let himself sink onto the bed next to Ben, cupping his face, Ben can only sob. Payback. He tries not to shake too much. What did he think? That Washington was different? Why else would he help him? It is always the same.

“Shhh… Look at me, Ben.”

He obeys. What else can he do?

Washington’s thumb strokes over his cheek. “I’m sorry, if the light will hurt your eyes, but you need to keep them open for me. Can you do this?”

What?

The sudden brightness is blinding and Ben fights to get away from it, his eyelids slamming shut.

“Ben. Please, just a minute.”

You can do this. You can do this. You had to do worse already. Ben obeys again, wincing.

Another stroke with the thumb. “Thank you, Ben.”

Washington is quick, swinging the little flashlight before Ben’s eyes. He talks, probably explaining what he is doing, but Ben can’t hear him through the blood pulsing in his ears. It really only takes a minute but for Ben it feels like years. His head is pounding again, and everything is swimming. He shivers as cold sweat covers him and the first heave leaves him mortified- but it doesn’t stop there.

The hand on his face wanders into his neck and tries to push him towards Washington, but Ben shields away like a wounded animal. Please, let it be over soon.

A muffled voice rings in his ears. “Ben? Ben, what’s wrong?”

Bile and whatever fluid Washington had forced down his throat crawl up again and he shudders, unable to hold it back, unable to swallow again. His arms supporting him get heavy and he wavers, still vomiting what little he had managed to keep down so far.

“I got you.” Strong arms curl around him and hold him steady, a hand gently holding the wisps out of his face. “It’s ok, Ben, just let it out, just let it out.”

When the heaves die down, Ben hangs in Washington’s arms like a ragdoll, unable to move. But he finally realizes where he is- and where he got sick. The blanket is a mess, watery vomit soaking it and the mattress… His tremors get worse and the close proximity is suddenly suffocating him. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you done?”

He manages a tiny nod. The words have him already knowing what will come next. He winces and can only hope, he’ll pass out soon. Arnold always took his time. 

Washington pulls him over on the other mattress and as soon as Ben brushes against the man, he gets stiff. Surprisingly, the grip loosens and Washington nearly jumps off the bed. “Ok. I’ll change the covers and then I’ll get you a wash cloth and something to drink. You think you can manage a few sips?”

More to throw up? He looks at the blanket and tries to disappear in the pillow again. “No, you don’t need to. I’m sorry. I’ll…”

A tissue suddenly presses at the corner of his mouth and Washington gently wipes away the vomit. “They are only bed linens, Ben, nothing a good wash won’t erase and even if not, you are sick! That is nothing to be ashamed of.”

“But I ruined…”

Washington gives his hand a gentle squeeze and chuckles lightly. “I don’t mind. Believe me, I don’t mind. Alex ruined more bed linens in one night than I owned at that time. You still have way to go to achieve that, Ben.”

A small smile tugs at the corner of Ben’s mouth. Maybe…

Washington comes back with a cup of water and urges him to drink a bit, waiting with an angelic patience for Ben to manage the task, that has him bone tired and exhausted.  
“You should eat something.”

“No.”

“A soup? Please.”

He just wants to sleep. Sleep. Ben is already drifting away when Washington tucks him in and brushes the sweat soaked wisps out of his face. He puts the diagnostic lamp on the nightstand and with one long glance at Ben, turns around and goes, leaving the door open enough to hear if Ben might need him again. Luckily, he can’t see the boy from the couch. He dims the lights so the radiance falling through the open door won’t hurt Ben and picks up his book again. The Aeneid. He goes back to Dido and Aeneas and a love that cannot be.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emotions and a bit of...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I live on kudos and reviews ;)

Washington rubs his eyes and looks at his watch. A few minutes, then he needs to check on Ben again. He is sleeping calmly for now and like hell he would ruin this a second before he needs to, not when most slumbers are either a state of pure unconsciousness or a fitful thing he would never call rest.

Eliza however had made clear he needs to check on Ben every couple of hours and make sure the pressure in his head isn’t rising. Thankfully, there were enough videos on YouTube to teach one how to do it.

The mail he is tipping blurred in front his eyes and he silently wonders how long a person could go without sleep. It was a small mercy Alex left hours ago or the brat might pick up on a thing or two. It isn’t like this is a normal thing to do for a stranger after all and that is what they are: strangers. The only thing they have in common is their hate for Arnold but besides this… 

He sighs and press the back of his hands to his eyes, willing his thoughts to stop. He was making a fool out of himself!

A quick look to the watch on his wrist has him getting up and walk over to the bedroom. When had this stopped being about Arnold and his revenge? 

Looking down at the figure curled in his bed, the answer sadly is more than obvious.

He gently places a hand on Ben’s shoulder and tries to wake him, but the reaction is not what he had hoped for. Ben’s bolts up with a scream, hands flying up and nearly knocking him unconscious, while tremors run through his lithe form.

“Ben?”

When the tremors are replaced by tears, Washington wordlessly pulls him against his chest and lets the boy weep, holding him and thanking God Ben allows it, thanking God he at least trusts him more than Arnold.

After a while he pulls away and lower his eyes, embarrassment flushing his face. Did anyone ever tell him how handsome a blush looks on him? “Your shirt…”

It is nearly instinct that has Washington stroking the hair out of Ben’s eyes. “That can also be washed.”

When did it get so hot in here? He is suddenly hyper aware of every tiny shift Ben makes and every breath in his own constricted chest. Why is he still holding Ben’s head? He lets go of the boy as if he suddenly burned his hand. “I need to look at your eyes again.”

Ben is more coherent this time, but still sensitive to light, that much Washington can tell and he is glad to get the ordeal over. “Sleep again, you need it.”

However, Ben doesn’t fall back into the pillows fast asleep like the last time, instead he bites on his lower lip and looks like he is about to cry again. 

“I can stay if you want.” The words leave his mouth before he can stop himself and he curses inwardly. Strangers, George, strangers. The boy might be laying in your bed, but that doesn’t mean anything.

“I just thought… It helped Alex when he had nightmares.” He quickly adds, hoping it would look less like a threat. What is he even thinking? The boy went through hell and already has one creep in his life, he doesn’t need a cradle robber that just wants his hands on a pretty face. Get a grip, George!

“Please.” The word is so soft, he nearly fails to hear it.

When he looks in Ben’s face, Washington is surprised to find no fear there but rather something like hope. “Of course. Move over.”

He sits on the bed and Ben curls into him, seeking comfort, safety. When Washington places a hand on the Ben’s shoulder, he is taken aback at how tense they are. “Do I make you uncomfortable?”

He more feels Ben shake his head against his thigh than seeing it. “Still afraid of the nightmare?”

“It wasn’t a dream.”

That was the worst part of it. Alex had dreamed of poverty and violence but it had never been directed at him, not in a specific way, not like Ben suffered under that ass. If he would ever see Arnold again, he would beat him up. He would make sure the man could never raise a finger again against anyone- and he would make sure he could never tell lies about Ben. The picture of Ben, cuffed to the bed, weeping and pleading for help, for someone to tell him that he wasn’t crazy still torments him. How could anyone do this? To someone as sweet as Ben nonetheless. Arnold better runs as long as he still can.

Washington’s fingers find their way into Ben’s hair and he strokes the soft locks, massaging the boy’s temple to have him loosen up a bit. He is about to ask if Ben wants him to stop, when a soft moan reaches his ears.

He is simply thankful for the comfort, it is nothing… His groin ignores his brain entirely and he can feel himself hardening. He should…

“I just wanted to be loved, you know. It was perfect at the beginning. God, that sounds like some crappy movie.” His voice is heavy with sleep and maybe the painkillers Alex got him, but they don’t make him delusional, they just loosened his tongue and have Washington pause.

“You are loved.” And NOT by you, George! You cannot, you must not!

Ben turns his head away, but he isn’t quick enough for Washington not to catch the tears. “No, I’m not. I’m not exactly what a father wishes for.” He tries to hide everything behind a laugh, but fails miserably. Maybe it’s the pain in his head or an older one, one that was neatly put away for years.

The sight has him throwing caution in the wind and he reaches for the boy and pulls him closer, hugging him. “Ben.”

“I know, I’m a mess. I don’t know… I just…”

“Shhh.” Washington rubs small circles at his back and tries not to think of how good the smaller frame feels against his broad one, how nice Ben fits into his arms, here, in his bed! But he does and it doesn’t do him any good, not with his trousers getting tighter by the second and Ben shifting, accidentally bumping into him, brushing over him.

“You are loved Ben and you deserve it!” God, he would like nothing more than to show the boy just how much he loves him. Push him into the soft bed and kiss him breathless, do all the things with that lithe body he has read about, seen. He hopes he can stifle the moan that works his way up his throat.

“Thank you.”

Washington lets his fingers stroke through the golden curls and presses a feather light kiss on top of Ben’s head. Nothing special, nothing he hasn’t done with Alex after the brat was asleep. Ben is sick, he would never… not with Arnold and… He would never…!

Ben looks up and these blue orbs break his restraints. His fingers brush over the still bruised cheekbone, over and over again and Ben’s eyes flutter close. He lies there in his arms, eyes closed, lips parted and for the first time since Washington knows him, he looks relaxed. God, these lips. 

Washington licks his own very dry ones and tries to swallow the lust, the guilt, the nervousness. What shall he do? What is he about to do? His eyes fly open, when he feels the touch of soft flesh on his. 

He doesn’t know who moved first but his guilty consciousness is certain it was him and Christ, those lips. Washington is not sure what he expected. In a romance, a kiss is an explosion of lucky thoughts and fluffy moments, in a porno, it doesn’t really exist as anything more than an irrelevancy, but the kiss is neither. The kiss is just- Ben. Sweet and soft and shy, nothing big or sexy, but the heat that his boiling blood reaches with it is excruciating and it is toxic. His hands come up to lightly- lightly, George!- cup Ben’s face and tangle themselves in his hair, loosely falling onto his shoulders.

A faint blush is painting a bit of color on Ben’s sickly white face and it suits him. “I… I liked that. It was… I never did… you know, just a sweet…”

Washington captures his lips again, sparing Ben the stuttering and admitting that not even in the beginning of their relationship, a beginning he describes as perfect, did Arnold treated him good, treated him like he deserves to be treated. With all the willpower he can master, he stops himself from pushing Ben onto the bed or his hands from roaming that delicious form. Just another kiss, soft and sweet, Ben in his arms and the boy moans into his mouth and Washington loses his last restrain, nipping at Ben’s lip and stroking his arms, his sides, his…

Ben’s hands find the bulge in his trousers and he pauses for a second, before he traces his fingers over it, lightly, uncertain.

Washington nips at his ear, savoring the soft mewl Ben makes and his voice is husky, when he finally finds it again. “God, you are perfect.”

Ben rubs him harder, but Washington captures his hands. “No.” Another kiss on those soft lips. “You deserve more, you deserve so much more.”

He feels Ben’s lips part and the feeling of his tongue in the other man’s mouth, all the hot warmth is…

The cell on the couch buzzes and Washington jerks upright. He blinks, not sure where he is, what…

Another buzz.

His glancing eyes fall on the nightstand next to him, the diagnostic lamp. Something shifts next to him and when he turns around, he sees Ben, curled into himself, his head resting next to Washington’s leg and fast asleep. His lips aren’t puffy from kisses, his eyes are from crying.

Another buzz.

Washington jumps off the bed. No! What has he done? His watch tells him he has a memory gap from nearly two hours. Only a dream! He didn’t… he… His trousers sting to his legs as he moves and the feeling of a drying mess tells him very well what he did.

Washington dashes into the bathroom and jumps under the shower, turning it on ice cold. Anything to forget the feeling of those lips, those words, those moans. His skin is long numb and lifeless, not feeling the biting cold anymore but his inner turmoil isn’t dying like the feeling of his skin did.

Washington rests his forehead on the glass of the shower stall and tries to shove it back, shove it all back into the tiny box he had it put for years, god, decades. He cannot, not now, not with Ben. 

A strangled sob escapes his lips. The boy was beaten up by his ex, declared crazy, helpless, sick and nearly raped only days ago and he… The water washes the remaining of his lunch breakfast down the drain. “I’m sorry, Ben, I’m sorry.”

The phone buzzes again, probably to tell him he missed a call. Blindly, he reaches for it. Not a second longer! The water drops make it difficult to see the numbers but he finds the one he is searching for quickly. It’s his private cell and only three people have the number of it anyways and he never calls any of them, so he simply slams his finger on the list of called numbers. Caleb Brewster doesn’t answer, not this time, nor the twenty other times Washington tries to call. In the end, he just stops calling because the cell falls from his fingers onto the floor of the shower stall. He crumbles to the floor only minutes after but there is no energy left in him to pick it up again.

Only when his cheeks sting from a warmth he is no longer used to does he realize he’s crying.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry you had to wait so long for the next chapter, but I hope it was worth it

Soft light is falling into his eyes and Ben groans, burrowing his face into the pillow while he tries to melt into the bed. His head still feels like it’s going to split apart. Thinking of it, he feels like the rest of his body is already past this and the idea of unconsciousness does sound quite appealing to him, anything to forget the pain. 

Ben snuggles into the blanket and the calm of sleep has already washed over him when a tiny thought all of the sudden has his heart racing like it is being chased by a madman. Like it is being chased by Benedict: Why is he in a bed? Caleb gave him his couch and that is where he is sleeping. 

The soft blanket id suddenly suffocating him and he fights against it, fights to get it off him, but his movements aren’t as precise as he is used to. Was he drugged? Why can’t he remember? Where…

“Ben?”

He freezes. No. He knows this voice. His hands start to shake. “Sir?”

Washington’s brow is furrowed and he stands in the door like some parent- not the most assuring resemblance. “Is it okay if I come closer?”

These words have his heart stop the crazy run it was on and he nearly feels safe again. It’s not Benedict! Washington has been nothing if not kind of him so far.

He wills his voice to stop shake and tries to act like somewhat of an adult. “Why am I here?”

He stays in the doorway as if he really needs Ben’s permission to move. It is nonsense, utter nonsense, but still he can feel himself relaxing. His glance flickers from Washington, through the room and lands on the nightstand where a lone diagnostic lamp lies and memories come back, knocking at the door of his brain. He swallows down a heave as he realized how helpless he has been again, how dependent.

“Are you alright?”

He barely hears the question, his fingers curling around the blanket in a death grip.

Suddenly Washington’s face is in front of him and worry clouds it. “Ben?”

No touch, no force, just worry. All night just worry. He isn’t Benedict, he is better than him.

From somewhere deep within he manages to plaster a weak smile on his face. “I’m fine.”

Ben doesn’t know if he convinced him or if the niceties are just done now, but Washington lets the topic rest and reaches for the diagnostic lamp instead, not really meeting Ben’s eyes. “I tried to reach your friend but he isn’t answering his phone.”

Caleb. Ben manages a nod but inside he really feels helpless now. Helpless and alone.

Washington can’t reach him, not for a week or two, no matter the solar charger Caleb bought for emergencies. There will be no picking up this time, no friend, no happy ending. And even if he could reach him, he is on a boat, on the boat with Anna and Abe. It wouldn’t be fair to spoil everything for him. Ben has already exploit his good heart long enough. He can’t ruin this also.

The airport comes back to his mind and with it the confidence he had felt for like ten minutes. Ten fucking minutes he was already in the trap Benedict had laid out for him. Ben can only hope he gulped the tears down in time before Washington sees them. It’s his own fault, it’s… he curls into himself and wonders if it has been that cold all along.

A blanket is what has him looking up. Washington wordlessly puts it around him, tucking him in like a child. He should be embarrassed, hell, mortified for being treated like some damsel in distress that can’t solve her own problems, but it’s nice, it’s warm and comfy and for a second Ben allows himself to believe that everything is alright but then the nagging question comes back: Why? Why is Washington doing this for him?

Washington yanks his hand away and Ben pleads he hasn’t said that aloud. Or should he say it aloud?

“Let me check on your eyes again, then I’ll leave you be.”

Ben tries not to slam his eyes shut at the direct light and Washington apologizes for every wince Ben can’t stifle. He is sweet to him and Ben suddenly longs to trust someone, anyone just to be less alone. He can’t bring himself to rely on him, but he can start somewhere. “Thank you, sir.”

A smile lets the face of the other man shine and it makes him younger by a decade. “Your welcome Ben, but please, do me one favor.”

A favor? Something in him breaks and his hands under the blanket start to shake. “Yes?”

“I’m not a teacher that you need to be formal with while I call you by your first name. George will do.”

He nods a bit too enthusiastically but the relief he is feeling is just overwhelming him. He would call him nearly anything if that is the only request he has. Calling him by his first name isn’t dangerous, calling him by his first name he can do.

A small smile. “Good. Your eyes are still normal, so I guess the worst is over. Now, I would recommend a good night’s sleep, wouldn’t you agree?”

Only now does Ben realize how tired Washington looks. Did he sleep at all? Guilt is suddenly crushing down at him.

“I’ll give you a tablet. If you can’t sleep, just listen to an audiobook, would that be okay?”

“Yes," he can only barely suppress the sir. “Thank you, again.”

Washington just nods and with one look at him, that adds even more years to his face than he normally wears he stands up. “Sleep well, Ben. If you need anything, just call.”

***

Washington walks into the living room and picks up the first thing that looks anything like a tablet, not even checking if it is charged. Ben is a clever boy, he will figure it out. Alex is only barely younger and nearly talks syntax more fluently than English, so Ben will be fine.

He really needs to sleep, sleep and not dream. The couch is singing a siren’s song he can no longer ignore. But now, in the living room, he suddenly realizes his mistake: Call me George… Great! He shouldn’t talk after such a night. He shouldn’t be around Ben at all!

He hands Ben the device and tries not to have his eyes linger on the lithe form in his bed, but he can’t stop his thoughts that easily. Damn, George, what are you doing? Maybe he should get a dog that would play companion for him. Yeah, a dog is a good idea, especially after such a night. Next thing in the morning, he will drive to the shelter. Or get a puppy. Or both. Anything to stop this sudden loneliness he feels whenever he looks at Ben. Falling asleep he wonders if a whole litter could fill his heart enough to suppress anything else he shouldn’t feel.

***

The fingers are demanding, no matter how much he pushes against them. They dig into his flesh and he can feel himself bruising. He struggles against the grip and says the word that never helps. “No!”

A soft stroke. “Shhh… You’ll like it.”

His hands fly up to push back, to fight. He isn’t some maiden in need, he is a strong young man, he can fight, he…

“Stop this!” He is practically growling in his ear and then there are hands again, a mouth. Heat where he doesn’t want it, lips where he doesn’t want them. Ben gasps.

“See, you like it.”

No, no! Let go of me. Help, help!

A hand in his hair, a tongue in his mouth. Bile in his mouth and a tongue venturing lower.

“My boy!”

Bile and tears and pain. A hand forces his chin up and a voice growls into his ear when he squeezes his eyes shut, a last form of defiance. “Look at me, my boy.”

He does and the eyes he is looking at aren’t blue, they are brown.

Gasping for breath, Ben shoots up, so tangled in the sheets he nearly falls over. Bile in his mouth, tears in his eyes… His head flies over but the other side of the bed is empty. His fingers curl around the blanket, pulling it closer only to push it off a second later. He tucked him under that blanket. He… Brown eyes. Washington!

Ben sobs uncontrollably. Minutes, hours, he doesn’t know. Only when another struggle against phantom hands has him kicking something hard is he able to break out of it.  
His fingers curl around a leather case and flipping it open, he is greeted by a wide screen. A tablet. Right… The audiobook. Washington gave him the tablet to relax and pass time if he can’t sleep. Washington, the man he wanted to trust, the man that didn’t touch him, the man that helped him. The man that didn’t fucking touch him! And he dreamed him a rapist. Aren’t you a grateful one?

Ben presses the balls of his hands on his eyes and tries to calm his breath. Will this ever stop? Will he be always that jumpy? He could make therapy, some nice couch and more pills and injections. The mere thought has his breath speeding up again.

No, he will manage, he has to manage. God, didn’t he just get a grip on his life again? When will this hell leave him alone?

He blindly slams his finger on the on button of the tablet. Anything is better than thinking, anything is better than his own mess.

No password needed but folders of folders neatly put away in little groups. He would never find audible or even YouTube in this plenty. He and tablets… He shifts nervously, suddenly remembering what happened when he held one for the last time. How would Washington react?

Don’t think! And certainly not like HIM! Ben tips on the display long enough to finally find out how to open the recently used tabs. The light is still hurting his eyes but at least his head is more occupied with pain than with nightmares right now. Business, financials, emails… Internet. He sights. Open YouTube via Internet and go back to sleep or at least calmness. It sounds nice, it sounds manageable.

He taps on the tab and it opens, loading the last website. He closes his eyes, rubbing his throbbing temples, waiting, pleading with his still racing heart to slow down. You are safe, Ben, he isn’t Benedict, he would never do this, he isn’t even into men, he…

A moan. Ben nearly jumps of the bed at the sound, eyes flying open. What? Another moan… and another… He shudders and his eyes dart around, looking for the source, for a weapon. His eyes fall onto the tablet, the website it loaded. It’s porn! He lets out a sigh of relief. Just porn, nothing dangerous, nothing… His hands start shaking when he realizes who is acting in this video: Two men, no woman.

No! He is staring onto the display, watching as the men are touching each other, moaning and all he feels is fear, cold, sickening fear. He is into men.

As one of the actors is lowering himself on his knees, tongue caressing the other, Ben slams his hands down, blindly trying to stop it, to block it. His hands are sweaty and he can’t find the tiny cross to close it at once. The moaning is already louder, more frequently and he feels like he is going to be sick. Sick and dirty.

The moans feel like a film on his skin and he suddenly longs for a shower, for anything to get rid of them, of the feeling that came back, the fear. A gay man mysteriously helping him, being nice to him. The déjà vu is far too strong.

He blindly stares at his laps, shaking, unable to move, even though his brain screams at him to run. Thankfully the moaning has stopped, but he can still hear it in his head and it is his name, over and over again- and it never felt that disgusting before.

It’s obvious now, what Washington's prize is, isn’t it? But why then all the niceties and the missing touches? Why waiting to collect the payment? Damn it, Ben, not every gay man wants you, not everyone is like HIM, aren’t they? He… God, he doesn’t know. Ben puts his hands over his ears and tries to silence the voices in his head. Benedict, Washington… Was there a difference?

He will talk to Washington, he decides, ask him what he wants. The man has been kind, no reason to mistrust him just yet. He is a fucking adult, not a scared child. Reason, he can use reason. He can do this- he hopes.

Ben looks down at the tablet again, hoping now more than ever to quiet his mind with a audiobook, some familiar world and characters that take him away from here, from his own mess of a life, but the next tab has the tablet sliding out of his hands. Distantly he hears something shatter but he doesn’t care. He just springs off the bed and runs.   
The light in the living room is blinding, daggers in his eyes, his head, turning his brain into a row and bloody mess, but he doesn’t slow down. He needs to get away from here. From him! He was a fool, God, he was such a fool!

Ben stumbles over something but he can’t really see what it is. More pain- and a voice, groggy with sleep. “Ben? What on earth are you…?”

Washington! The sound of his voice has pools of cold sweat running down Bens back. He vaguely remembers where the door is and runs for it, the mere sound of Washington’s voice speeding him up like nothing else could. His sight is slowly getting better, even though the pain isn’t lessening, but that isn’t important. What is important is that he will get out of here, away from him! God and he wanted to trust him, he felt safe with him. Hadn’t Caleb already told him? No girlfriends ever seen… 

He hears steps behind him, the steps coming closer. “Ben!”

No, God, no! He fumbles over the wall and finally his fingers find the doorknob and he yanks it open. He will not go through this again.

“Ben, please, wait. You will hurt yourself. Ben!” A hand on his arm.

The elevator is his rescue. He somehow manages to yank his arm free and flee into the elevator, slamming the button to shut the doors. Washington doesn’t interject but runs for the stairs. Ben watches the display that shows the floors moving by. Slowly, agonizing slowly they go down. His stomach is riding a rollercoaster, but he doesn’t care.

12th… Tears. They stream down his face like the Niagara Falls.

11th… Why did he always find a creep instead of a friend?

10th… He should have seen this coming.

9th… His father was right! He has been right all along.

8th… Move, please, move…

7th… Stop.

No! Ben begins to shake like a leaf. No!

The doors open.

A family steps inside, the little girl happily waving at him. Her father says something but Ben doesn’t understand it, doesn’t even know if the man addressed him or someone else. He just counts the seconds, seconds he loses. 37!

6th… He shivers but can’t tell if it is the cold or the fear.

5th… What will Washington do to him? 

4th… Will it hurt?

3th… Move!

2nd… Please!

1st… The doors open again and the family leaves the lift. Ben can only barely stop himself from shouting at them to move more quickly. Will it be too late? Will Washington already be there? Will all of this be for nothing? What will he do with him? Force him? Blackmail him? The hospital comes back to his mind, the threats of the doctors, the injections, the cuffs. A sob escapes his clenched throat. No, God, no! Benedict… Maybe he should turn around. Washington has been nice to him so far, gentle. Better then Benedict has ever been. Maybe… His teary eyes nearly miss the next floor.

Ground floor… A porter looks up at him and a few dressed up people stand there and talk. No Washington. Ben lets out a sigh of relief. That is when he hears the hurried steps.  
Run. He dashes though the foyer, not caring if he bumps into someone, not caring how the cold marble bites in his feet or how everyone is looking at him. He just runs onto the street.

The crowd he always felt uncomfortable in is suddenly his protection. He can’t harm him here, can he? A cab, he needs a cab! No way can he walk or take the sub. Already he feels lightheaded and his head is killing him. He longs for a dark place and maybe a friendly face. Even if Hobbit is no use as a guard dog, he will be at least a true friend, even if Ben has to blackmail him with cookies to be one. A wet dog nose sounds like heaven right now. Everything but this, everything but him!

Thank God they are Uptown where cabs are more common than even birds. He stumbles to the next one and falls onto the seats, mumbling Caleb’s address. He has money at home, that doesn’t matter, it all doesn’t matter. What matters is that he can see the form of George Washington getting smaller in the distance as the cab pulls away. He rests his head at the window and pretends to watch the people passing by, even if the only things he hears and see are his own thoughts- and the pictures on Washington’s tablet. Only now he realizes, that he trusted Washington already- and it was one big mistake- again!


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am soooo sorry to have abondand that ff for so long. Are you still there?
> 
> This chapter is for all of you patiently waiting and it has all the good stuff: death and a kiss- or are they good?

The cab drives through the busy streets of New York, past theaters, museums, skyscrapers and parks and all Ben can see is the picture on Washington’s tablet, that picture. Where did he get it? Did he pay for it? He feels like throwing up at the mere thought of it. Great, out of the frying pan and into the fire. Why he got it, he doesn’t need to ask himself. God, he can still feel his hands on his skin, his nightmare. He should have trusted his instincts, his intuition, for he has known it all along, known that the man couldn’t be trusted, known that he shouldn’t believe him, but he did. Lord, he did! 

It was his damn soft voice as he held him, his gentleness and the diagnostic lamp. He had been so caring and nice and Ben longed for a friend, a person to trust, but he was yet another creep- just his luck. 

“You ok, boy?” 

HIs eyes shoot up, but it’s just the cabbie asking, concern in every canyon that runs through his face. It’s an open face, full of emotions and honesty, but Ben can’t bring himself to trust him. He probably will never be able to bring himself to trust anyone again. 

He manage a nod, even though he feels more like crying, but crying in a public place is nothing he would recommend, not if you don’t want to be the greatest attraction in the city. Just don’t think that anyone would help you. 

He did it once, in London after a bad argument with Benedict. They fought and he hit him. Nothing special, but back then, it was still a new part of their relationship and Ben torn himself away from Benedict and ran, ran as long as his legs would carry him. When he finally stopped, he collapsed onto a bench, crying. Everyone stared, no one even just asked if he was ok, let alone needed help.

He hugs himself close, suddenly freezing, even though it is still warm outside. Can you freeze from the inside? Washington’s face flashes in front of my eyes and I’m suddenly pretty sure you can. 

The most important question is: Will he follow him? Problem is, he knows where Ben lives, so much is for sure and a deserted apartment isn’t the best place to hide. Well done telling him you are alone, Tallmadge!

He rests his head at the window and tries to relax, tries to calm down, to use the few minutes of safety in a driving car, but Ben can’t. His heart is still running, farther and farther and he wishs it would take him with it. He really wishs it would. 

“Bad breakup?”

“What?”

The cabbie shoots him a knowing grin in the driving mirror. “I’ve been young, too. Know all the looks. You are heartbroken, for that I don’t even need to look twice. What happened?”

For a crazy moment he thinks about telling him. What would the old man say if ben reveals that he ran from the great and generous George Washington, soon to be Mayor and President, who secretly was a gay pervert and would like nothing more that to get his hands down Ben’s pants. He chokes on the mere idea, but there is no use talking around it.   
“Going to be sick?”

“No.” Another lie. Just get back home, grab Hobbit and run. He can do this, he will live. He wants to live. Alone. Safe. Happy doesn’t even make it into the list anymore.  
Somehow he manages to get to the apartment before actually getting sick. The cabbie is patient enough to agree to wait before the house and let Ben get the money. He didn’t even have money with him! Dependent like a little child. Probably what Washington wanted. 

It’s strange to walk up the stairs he used to call a safe heaven, to look at everything and don’t feel the calm anymore that had always overcome him. But now? Now Washington will come for him. E knows where to look for him. Of all the people in New York, he is the one knowing. Ben wipes away a few tears. This doesn’t help either. 

The door to the apartment is slightly ajar. Did one of the neighbors check on Hobbit? He must have been barking. Poor boy! And nonviable as he is, he didn’t even bother to think about the poor dog. How Caleb could be so reckless to leave Hobbit in his care he can’t understand.

Caleb! He really misses his friend right now. What he would give to have that force of nature right now next to him, to support him. But Caleb is on the boot with Anna and Abe and it’s no use calling him. After all he did for Ben, he also deserves that freedom. When did he start to be that depended of other people?

Ben pushes the door open. “Hobbit? Where are…”

The words die in his throat. It can’t be. It can’t be! His eyes shoot through the room, taking in the scene in front of him. It is chaos, pure and utter chaos. Somewhere in between it lays the picture of him and his friends before there first boot trip- its ripped in pieces. 

“Hobbit?” Ben stumbles on, looking left and right and yet not seeing anything, not caring. Where is Hobbit? 

He climbes over broken furniture or piles of clothes and books and yet doesn’t register it. Where is Hobbit? When he finally finds him, he wishes he hadn’t. 

“No!” Ben falls to the ground in front of him, ignoring the pain in his hands, ignoring everything. He can only stare at the red fur of the white ball of joy and cry. With trembling hands he tries to check for a pulse. Please be alive. The fur is wet, wet and sticky and the iron taste in the air has him nearly vomiting again. Please be alive!

There is no pulse. No pulse… No… “Hobbit!” 

A soft whimpering. 

“Hobbit!” Where did he put his cell? God, where is the stupid phone? He scrabbels through the mess around him but he can’t find it. “Stay alive, please Hobbit, stay alive.”  
He is trembling like a leave, shaken by pure horror and tears, clinging to his ast hope, but the hope dies. It all dies. 

There are hands on his shoulders around his wrists. “Ben?”

No! “You.”

Washington is almost hugging him now, sotly whispering into his ears. “Ben, show me your hands. What on earth…”

“You!” Ben screams loud enough to have his own voice bring back the throbbing behind his temples but it doesn't bring some neighbors with it. The pain is excruciating, yet nothing against the pain in his heart. “You killed him.”

“Killed? No! Ben, look at me.”

He shakes his head, faster and faster. He doesn’t want to look at him, doesn’t want to feel his hands, doesn’t want to be near him. Murderer. Why, why Hobbit? “Are you satisfied now?”

“No.”

Of course he isn't. Why should he? Why should he be satisfied without getting what he wanted? Getting him. Ben hears himself sobbing and the tears taste like defeat, like failure- and like the feeling of lips and the sound of moans. He can hear it so clearly and the vomit is slowly crawling up his throat, burning his way up. 

The tears sting his skin and Washington still holds him close, cradles him against his chest but the gesture bears no comfort, no safety. It’s like a iron grip, a shackle that binds him to this man. A shackle that will never go away. A shackle that will never let him go, not until Washington is done with him, had him like he wanted. That's why he brought him home, that's why he laid him into his bed. Why did he even run? It was no use. He looks down at Hobbits still form. Absolutely no use. 

Would I have saved Hobbit if I stayed? Was he here before me? 

Ben chokes on a sob. Hobbit! 

“Calm down. Ben, there is no need to cry. I won’t hurt you, I promised you, remember? And I promise you again! No pain, no reason for tears.” A hand strokes down his face, whips away the tears and cups his face only seconds too long, but he gets the message. God, he got it much earlier. No use for procrastination. His hesitation caused Hobbit’s suffering, it caused all of this. This is his place in life, the one thing it will always come down to, no matter the struggle, no matter the hopes he had. Better get used to it. 

No pain… At least it won’t be as bad as the last time. It won't be like with Benedict. Or will it be worse? A gentle hand is answer enough. Much worse! It nearly feels like the one thing he wanted and will never feel: Love. A tainted, ugly version of it. Ben closes his eyes, squeazes them shut not to see Washington’s face, not to see his delight or triumph as he leans in and kisses the man. A long, teary kiss. His only wish is to be able to squeeze his ears shut, too, so he won't need to hear the moans or the dirty little things that will follow. Whatever! Just get it over with. Just get it over…

**Author's Note:**

> So... I was a bit unsure about this ff for it is a totally different thing than I usually do. Do you like it so far?
> 
> And as always, I love reviews und kuddos. ;)


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